Finals � � Chapter Twenty-Seven � �śIn the summer of 1968, at the age of twenty-one, I was drafted,” O’Connor began. �śThe first eight months in Nam weren’t difficult. My training lasted for quite some time and once I finished my tasks were hardly considered dangerous. I scouted a few areas and ran supplies between bases and AOs, but it wasn’t until I became a part of the Artillery Forward Observation Team assigned to the Infantry Company that my time in Vietnam started becoming life threatening. � �śIt’s been so many years an old man forgets things, but my last mission is one I still vividly recall. It will be embedded in my memory until I die. � �śIn early October 1969, our team, 22 Delta, was assigned to find and destroy the North Vietnam forces that were crossing over from Cambodia in an attempt to mount an attack on the city Tay Ninh. The previous morning our squad had conducted a little reconnaissance. We concluded the party was merely a small band of suppliers and some North Vietnam Army soldiers. Little did we know, we only got a glimpse of half the unit. In reality, this was a group of well-trained, well-equipped soldiers that equaled, if not surpassed, the number of men in Delta. � �śI remember that morning feeling uneasy. I felt apprehensive as if I already knew this day was going to be far different from any day in Nam so far. I was close to a few men in my unit. Chuck Daniels and Noah Johnson were two of the most cocky, self-absorbed men ever dropped in Nam, but honest to God there were no soldiers I would rather have had guarding my back than those two men. My closest friend was Isaac Rebello, but everyone called him Finch because he was very articulate, which wasn’t the norm over there. One of the boys pegged him as Finch because he thought Isaac talked like Gregory Peck’s character in To Kill a Mockingbird, and truth be told his nose stuck out like a bird’s beak as well so the name suited him quite nicely. Like me, Finch was a well-read, God-fearing Christian, who had a passion for AL baseball. We were simply two peas in a pod. � �śBefore we broke camp, I knew Finch was feeling similar to how I was because he was curiously quiet. Most mornings when Daniels and Johnson debated on who was going to kill more gooks, Finch would be there to jazz them about how often they cited �śmechanic malfunctions” as their primary excuse for misfiring, but not today. I remember asking him if everything was okay as we packed up our gear. � �śYou see Wayne, my boy, a man at war can never say �ŚI’m scared’ or �ŚI’m nervous’. It just doesn’t happen, no matter if you feel that way or not. For the sake of your troop and for your own well-being, a man can’t go into battle afraid he might die. Your fellow soldiers won’t be reassured and if all you think about is death then by God you’ll eventually will it to transpire. Finch knew that as well as I did, which is why he didn’t say anything. He said he just missed his wife Whitney and his year-old son he had yet to see. That might have been the truth, but I think what he was really saying to me was �ŚO’Connor, I need to go back home to my family, I can’t die here.’ I remember patting him on the back, and telling him that I’d make sure he didn’t get himself killed for his wife and son’s sake. He gave me a slight grin, and I think he felt more at ease after I said that, but who knows what’s running through a man’s head. � �śI knew a couple of the other men in our unit but most were new soldiers, also known as Cherries. They were thrown straight into the action due to the war’s escalation. Our team’s lead man was Harry �śNails” Westman, nicknamed because he was tough as nails and always had a way of getting out of a tight jam. � �śOur company broke camp in our three standard files, I was center file behind Nails. We walked for about two miles, not knowing we were heading into an ambush. The NVA had set a large U-shaped perimeter and were hoping to get our entire party into their kill zone. � �śThankfully, someone on the enemy’s side had an itchy trigger finger. Before our party was sucked into the ambush, a machine gun opened fire injuring our man at point. Nails ordered us to the left where we ran into more heavy fire. This caused the platoon to split, most hit the ground but Nails, a few Cherries and I broke off to the right. Since I was the RTO for this mission, it was my job to radio in for Bounce Max, a call that in essence meant we needed air support to subdue the enemy. The Cobra of the 2nd Battalion could be in the air to render assistance in as little as two minutes, so when I heard the Cobra flight leader’s voice I was thanking the dear Lord that backup was on the way. � �śHis call sign was Bravo 42, and when I heard the flight leader and his wingman were quickly approaching with rockets, 40 MM grenades and a mini-gun I thought for a second we might all get out of there with our lives. During their first run, Bravo 42 managed to wedge a small gap between our scattered platoon and the enemy, but the airborne crew expended their ammo in just a few minutes, forcing them to return to base. � �śWhile Bravo 42 was at station, another Cobra flight team helped fend off the enemy but our situation on the ground was becoming worse with each passing minute. The majority of Delta 22 was hunkered in near the tree line, and was under intense fire. Our small section of Delta was under the adjacent tree line divided by the NVA troops. Thanks to a couple rockets and Chi-Com hand grenades, several Cherries in our group were killed. As the enemy advanced upon us, I’d say only eight or nine men include Nails and I were capable of defending our position. The rest were dead or badly wounded. Compared to our position, Finch and the majority of our boys were in far worse shape. Although the tree line was providing much needed cover, the NVA troops were closing in. � �śAs grenades exploded all around us, I could vaguely pick up the voice of the Bravo 42 flight leader informing us of his position. The pilot told me he was at about three thousand feet but still a few minutes out. � �śWhile our tiny unit attempted to hide in the nearby brush, I began thinking there was no way we were going to get out of this alive. The enemy was pushing down on us and both sections of Delta were in serious danger. The increasing smoke from the Cobra’s rockets and the enemy’s grenades made visual conformation impossible. The enemy was right on us, and Nails was screaming at me to give Bravo 42 our coordinates. The next thing I remember was telling the flight leader our position near the far tree line. In the heat of the moment, I forgot to give the coordinates of the location where the majority of our team sat. The Cobra flight leader said he couldn’t see a thing and that he was afraid he was going to hit the Friendlies, but Nails, who was right beside me on the ground yelled, �ŚJust shoot the damn rockets you bastard!’ � �śAfter that call, the rest of the mission was a blur. At the hospital, Nails informed me that the Cobra’s rockets hit the trees near our location. Apparently, alongside with killing the enemy, the explosion knocked us back. I think I blacked out for a few minutes but when I awoke, I tasted blood and I knew my left arm was broken. Blood was streaming down my face into my eyes but I couldn’t move my arm to wipe it away. I could hear wild screams around me, so I closed my eyes believing this was truly the end. I can say for certainty that was the scariest moment of my life. I truly believed I was going to die. � �śWhen I awoke, I heard the humming of a helicopter and Nails with his arm around my waist was shouting in my ear, �ŚPick up your goddamn feet soldier!’ I can’t tell you how I got on that chopper, but I managed somehow. � �śTwo days later, I woke up in the hospital with my head bandaged and my left arm in a cast. The doctors informed me that I had suffered a concussion and my arm was broken in three places. The pain grew far worse; however, when I learned that I was one of only five members of Delta that survived the mission. Nails informed me that he and a few of the rookies that took cover near our position lived, but the enemy, as well as the possible friendly fire from Bravo 42, killed all of the soldiers that broke off from our party, including Daniels, Johnson and Finch. � �śIt took several months until the doctors gave me the all clear and I was released. I spent a couple days traveling but I was in the air on a plane back to the U.S. in no time. Shortly after I returned home, I joined the seminary, and I’m sure you know the rest.”� Father O’Connor refilled his glass and gave me a top-off before sinking back seamlessly into his chair. His face was void of expression and I was having difficulty reading his emotions. Maybe time had dulled the pain because he didn’t appear too upset, but I knew the events of that mission had caused him to become a man of the Church. � The one aspect of the story I had yet to wrap my mind around was how he came to that swift decision. �śWow, Father, was there something that made you want to join the seminary once you returned or was the experience itself simply that traumatic so you decided the world needed another man to teach the word of God?”� �śThat’s a good question, Wayne,” he said. �śThe guilt was a heavy burden. I felt responsible for the death of those men.” � �śBut it wasn’t your fault, Father. You were in Vietnam with bullets whizzing overhead, rockets blowing up all around you. You were in the heat of battle, what were you suppose to do?” � �śYou’re right, my boy, but I’ve still struggled, especially with Finch’s death. He was my closest friend during the war but it wasn’t just that, it was the promise I made to him before we left that morning and coming to the realization that if I had told the Cobra pilot their coordinates, Finch might be back home with his wife and child. I believe the reason I joined the Church was not only to spread God’s word and to enhance lives, but also to give individuals a second chance or guidance that can hopefully change their lives for the better.” � �śI think you’ve certainly done that, Father. With the advice and guidance you’ve provided to countless students throughout the years, I know you’ve been a positive influence to the St. Elizabeth community,” I remarked. � �śThank you, I try to provide the best advice I can to assist students with their important decisions, because I believe every once in a while you come across moments in life that define you and your choice of recourse can forever change your path.” � �śAs a priest don’t you believe that God has the ultimate say though?” � �śHe does, but I’m a strict believer that an individual travels down his or her own path. God knows your plan, yet it’s not as though you don’t have a say in how to live your life. If you sit around waiting for God to direct you, then I’m afraid you’ll be waiting around for quite some time, my boy.” � 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? � �śI 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.” � �śThose 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.” � �śSo when you were talking about the moments in your life that define you, do you think many of these decisions happen in college?” � �śIn 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. �śOf 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.” � �śI 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. � �śSo 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. � �śWell, 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?” � �śSure,” I replied curiously. � �śA 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. � �śThere is also one other common confession I hear often,” Father O’Connor continued. �śAnd 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.� �śI’m telling you all of this, my boy, because this last Monday a girl entered the confessional and as she began saying, �ŚBless me father for I have sinned�Ś’ 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. � �śAfter 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. � �śI 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. �śNo need to be alarmed,” I said to myself. � �śI 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 �śOh, 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. � �śI 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. �śI 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 �śYes” 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. �śWhy 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.� �śI 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. � �śI’m certain you’re aware of what needs to be done now, Wayne,” I heard the priest say, as I now stared incomprehensively at this portrait of the oldest building on campus in an attempt to gather my wits about me. � Taking an immense guzzle of the alcohol I was beginning to get accustomed to, I turned and angrily began telling the old man off. �śYou’re going to turn me in? I’m like your son and you’re going to sit here and pretend you don’t care. I know you do because you just told me that Vietnam story that I know you haven’t told to just anyone. Not to mention, I’ve told you a bunch of the fucking details about my life. Now, it’s like I’m nothing to you!” � The booze was apparently causing me to revert back to my old rebellious high school days because as I continued to empty my glass more nonsensical bullshit flowed from my lips. My head ached immensely. Trying to convey my side of the story was far more difficult than I would have guessed. As much as my darkness continued to fight, my overwhelmed logic knew it was futile. I sensed I had reached the end. � Father O’Connor sat patiently waiting, as I continued my tirade, looking for an opening to speak. �śThis has absolutely nothing to do with our relationship, Wayne but it has everything to do with the laws appointed to us by our government and our Creator,” he said, when my breath finally gave way. � I was certainly too drunk to listen to any philosophical or religious justification about why I was in the wrong. Again reaching for the bottle, I snatched it away from the priest before he was able to get his mitts on it and I served myself as I started jabbering once again.� �śYou told me that whole story about Finch and the war because you felt guilty about everything. How would you feel going through that for the second time, huh?” I’m not a bad guy. Those guys, the guys I killed, those were the bad guys, and they was gonna keep doing bad stuff if it wasn’t for me. Brent was into drugs, into coke and was destroying lives. He wasn’t a good person. And Harvey fuckin’ raped chicks. Raped �Śem, Father. It was wrong, yeah, but it was right too. Don’t ya think I woulda been caught by now if I was supposed to? This is fate Father, and the one thing in my way is you. You’re sitting here, pointing your finger and judging me when you just told me how those boys like Finch dying was your bad. Could you live with yourself doing that again? Putting me behind bars all because of you?” � I inhaled the rest of my scotch and stood there waiting for a response. However, as I gazed at the priest hoping for an answer, my eyes started to feel like a ton of bricks, and my head was throbbing and feverish. When Father O’Connor did at last move his lips, I was unable to grasp what was coming out of them. With the scene becoming dark and fuzzy, I moved back to my chair and slumped into it, closing my weighty, weary eyes. �