Chapter 19 Syzygy
Syzygy
The conjunction of the king and queen, the supreme syzygy, is a union of opposites par excellence.
— CARL JUNG, PSYCHOLOGY AND ALCHEMY
COLLINS
We shouldn’t be so fragile that one moment out of the whole of our existence should alter us. But that’s the cruel reality every victim of a crime comes to realize, just how delicately fragile we truly are when caught in the fury of a storm—
And that storm is furious.
I clamp my eyes closed, shutting out the dirt trying to creep in. A tide rises in my lungs. Panic snags my breath, and I force a trembling breath through my nose over the tape, easing the sharp pressure beneath my ribs.
One. Two. Three.
Despite my desperation to hold purchase in the present, time bends, folding around me in a suffocating clutch.
With one harsh twist of the knife between ribs, skin splits.
Pectoral muscle parts. The blade slices through cartilage, tearing past muscle and sac, until steel kisses the wall of my heart.
Like the frail exoskeleton of a seashell, my breastplate cracks.
My vision tunnels under the intrusive memory.
Pinpricks assault my fingers, my hands turning cold above the metal cuffs.
My chest seizes with palpitations, a dizzy rush flooding my head as the damaged valve catches, the leaflet refusing to move.
My heartbeat falters. Too fast, uneven—then skips.
Blood rushes backward in a sickening whoosh as my lungs fail to pull air.
I make a failed attempt to reach for my pocket, only to recall my pill case is in my jacket. Dammit.
Stilling my body, I focus my breathing. Taking slow breaths in and out, I count—four in. Hold for two. Four out. I manage to find a rhythm, slowly stabilizing my heart rate.
And then, I open my eyes and stare into the low-lit depths of Orion’s observatory. Rain lashes the windows and slams the dome, drumming with the same force as the heavy pulse in my ears. The torrent rages with the same silent wrath swelling within me.
Time is always against me. Another cruel reality.
I’ve been caught in the fury of a storm since my life ended beneath the hands of a monster driven by obsession. Since my heart stopped beating, damaged by the edge of his blade.
And I fucking swore I’d never again be so fragile. That I would never again be a victim.
Muffled by tape, a desperate sound escapes, something between a laugh and a sob at the fucking irony.
With a furious burst, I yank at the restraints locking my wrists. The loud clang echoes through the chamber to mock me. Orion isn’t even technically a Gemini. My whole damn profile was off because of a shift in the sky. And I completely overlooked a thirteenth constellation.
I draw in another shaky breath to stem the fury, and a flash of light guides my gaze across the dark. Awkwardly using my shoulder, I clear the tangle of strands from my eyes. My jacket lies on the floor, right where Orion left it discarded. And underneath—my phone lighting up with a call.
Frantic, I extend my leg, straining to reach the hem with my toe. Years of punishing discipline rush back. Yet despite all my rigorous practice, my muscles burn from neglect, falling short.
I slump against the telescope pier, wrists throbbing. Calming myself further, I mentally comb through everything that happened before, desperately searching for any way out of this.
…when the celestial bodies align in syzygy, I can’t be anywhere near you.
Orion’s words come back to me, ominous and damning. Syzygy. Alignment. His fixation on symmetry was a blatant warning.
I should’ve recognized the pattern.
The law of symmetry was right there, a rule written in his fucking stars. We don’t simply crave balance and harmony—
We need it.
Just as celestial bodies align during an eclipse, our minds seek that same balance, unifying opposite aspects. Jungian psychology, the unity of opposites. Conscious and unconscious. Masculine and feminine. Shadow and self. What that innate desire for symmetry drives us toward: completeness.
For every good, there’s a bad.
For every truth, a delusion.
For every prey, a predator.
And my hunter…
He needed his victim.
A hot surge of anger floods the constricted chamber of my heart. Orion failed to complete his ritual with his last victim. He wouldn’t just be compelled to finish it—he’d need to. The compulsion too strong to deny.
Any feelings he harbors for me simply became warped, entangling me deeper into his fixation.
From the first moment I laid eyes on Orion, I recognized the break in him. And I manipulated it, employing dark psychological tactics to infiltrate his habitat. My methods worked so damn well, in fact, I infiltrated straight into his obsession—as his fucking victim.
God, I really did not see that coming. Especially when I spent the past few days focused on trying to help him. I just thought we had enough time.
But Orion is driven by his need to complete the pattern, to fill the void. He can’t stop searching for what’s lost, what’s missing—
Shit.
At the thought, I twist my body, angling my cuffed wrists enough that I can dig my fingers into my skirt pocket, groping for the object hidden there.
Pinching the slender brass between my fingertips, I painstakingly pick at the left cuff lock. Thankful I had the patience to learn how. Thank you, Darby.
When the locking mechanism clicks, I slide my wrist free, not giving myself a moment to brace before I tear the tape away from my mouth. I stifle a cry and immediately drag in a full breath to fill my lungs before I pick the second cuff, slipping it off my wrist.
One second where I savor the relief, then I make a dash toward my phone. I toss my umbrella and jacket aside and grab the device, my heart clenching as I light the cracked screen.
One missed call from Darby.
A torrent of rage and panic batters my resolve. No—not yet.
I claw my fingers through my tangle of hair, facing the bank of windows. The storm has subsided to a misty rain, leaving behind a bruised sky in its aftermath. Dark clouds block most of the sun, one thin blade of light bleeding through.
Determined, I flip the phone over to pop out the SIM card. If Darby has this number, then he’s already tracking me. I halt as the screen illuminates again, his number displayed across the screen. Dread clamps my ribs like a vise.
Indecision weighs on my shoulders as I stare at the phone, taking measured steps toward one of the panoramic windows. Resigned, I accept the call and bring the phone to my ear.
The line is quiet until: “Hol.”
I blink slowly, hearing all that’s said in just the single syllable of my name, beneath the somber tone of Darby’s voice.
“Hol, are you with him right now?”
I swallow, steeling myself for the lie. “Yes.”
His heavy exhale sounds across the line, some combination of relief and frustration.
“I need you to stay where you are,” he instructs.
“I’m going to be the one…” He trails off, leaving a tense beat of hesitation.
“This is done. It’s over. But I’m going to be the one to bring you in and conduct the interview, all right. ”
My gaze wanders past the cliffside, out over the rocky outcroppings and rolling ocean in search of the horizon. It’s a faint, misty line. Nearly indistinguishable as the gray waters blend with the steel sky.
“How?” I ask, but I don’t really need Darby to detail the way he found me. If he had a starting location, it would then be simple enough to gain access to business and university registries. Run names through an anagram generator until there’s a hit.
Time is always against me.
He was never supposed to have a starting location. Which means—
“There was another victim,” he says, releasing a tense breath. “Two, actually. Roughly an hour and a half away from you. At first, I wasn’t convinced it was the same perpetrator. But I just had a gut feeling.”
There’s another tentative pause, and I know he’s keeping me talking, keeping me on the line—because I know these tactics.
I even know his next move. My gaze falls over the long stretch of pier in the distance.
With a sudden flutter, my pulse spikes. Destination decided, I’m moving before Darby gets to his next bullet point.
“Look,” he says, and now I’m the one letting him fill the silence as I keep him talking, just long enough to pull a trace on my movement. “I’m not sure I want to know. I don’t want to ask, but…”
As I round the telescope, I come to a halt and swoop down, my hand closing around the steel handle of the umbrella. I stand and test its solid heft. Heavy enough to cause some damage should I need a weapon.
A pang lances my chest at the thought of having to use Orion’s own umbrella against him—but the disturbed look I saw amid the current of his eyes leaves me little choice.
I’ll come back for you.
That’s my fear.
“The victims were found mutilated,” Darby says, disrupting my thoughts. “Dug up by an animal from where the bodies had been recently buried. It was obvious the scene was tampered with, masking the MO. Which is not like our guy.”
I can sense his aversion, can hear his disgust. And while his mortification should bother me more, I’m already descending the spiral staircase, heart thundering with each defiant step. Adrenaline winds my veins as I grip the umbrella at my side.
Before I escape the observatory, I quickly search the main control room, finding the key hanging from a chain along a panel.
I push through the heavy arched doors, inhaling a deep breath of mist-laden air.
A gust of wind bites into my sweat-slicked skin.
Urgency propels me across the damp grounds, my heart thrashing against my ribs, struggling to keep pace as I race toward the trail ahead.
“Hollyn, tell me it wasn’t you.” Darby’s voice breaks through the line. “Fucking hell, tell me you weren’t the one who bashed in the skulls.”