The May First Selected Writer is Paul Magnan

Please feel free to contact Paul at:

pdm93@verizon.net

SATURN CONJUNCTION

by Paul Magnan

Iris brushed back a strand of blonde hair and studied the bi-wheel chart. The inner wheel was Art's natal chart, with all of the planets in their terrible, afflicted glory. The outer wheel was an event chart, based on planetary positions over the town at 10:45 PM, ten minutes from now. Immediately after 10:45 the Moon would exit Virgo and be Void for two and a half hours before it entered Libra. The police response had to happen during this brief window.

She looked out the bay windows at the winter darkness. A long drive, glistening with black ice, snaked through the clusters of trees from the road to her home. Iris wondered how fast Art would drive under these hazardous conditions. Mars was prominent in his First House. Iris smiled. Art would have the accelerator to the floor.

Iris took a sip from the porcelain cup at her elbow. She swished the spicy chai tea around her mouth before she swallowed. Within minutes she knew would see a set of headlights coming fast down the drive. While one did not need to be a slave to the characteristics they were born under, some, like Art, embraced them.

*****

"Heather, please reconsider this. You gave me the data to draw up his chart. You've always trusted my advice. Please trust me now. Art is no good. Get rid of him."

Heather shared the same blonde hair and hazel eyes of her older sister. She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. "You're wrong this time, Iris. Art's not as bad as you're making him out to be. He’s decent and charming. He's never once disagreed with me, let alone raised his voice or, like you have suggested, become in any way violent. He's just not like that."

"Heather, he's charming because he has Mercury in Libra. That will make anyone silver-tongued. But he has Mars in his First House with an Aries Ascendant. If that wasn't bad enough he has Uranus in his Fourth House under affliction and squared against the Ascendant. And he has transiting Pluto conjunct Moon in the Eighth House under Scorpio. Those are aspects of violence and death. To see all of this in a person's natal chart...it's just scary. Art is capable of terrible things, and nowhere in his chart do I see restraint."

Heather turned away. "You're wrong."

"Have I been wrong yet about any of the men in your life? Hasn't each chart I've drawn up for you been an accurate reflection of their characters? Heather, I know you think you really like this guy, but he is all wrong. Please believe me."

Heather looked up, her face set in stone. Iris's heart sank as she saw her sister's Moon in stubborn Taurus come to the fore.

"You're wrong this time, Iris. You wait and see."

*****

Two weeks into the relationship Art insisted on moving in with Heather. A week after that Heather got her first shiner. She insisted it was due to her own clumsiness. Iris pointed out that Heather had taken five years of ballet lessons and was one of the least clumsy people in the world. When Heather finally admitted the black eye was given by Art she was quick to insist it was her fault, that she had provoked him. Iris again pleaded with her sister to dump Art. Heather just shook her head.

Heather and Iris could not go out to lunch together without Heather's cell phone ringing every five minutes. Art demanded to know who she was with and when she was coming home. Heather admitted to Iris that Art was always checking her cell phone to see what calls were made, and he was constantly snooping through her e-mail.

*****

"I'm calling the police, Heather. I'm sick of seeing this animal treat you like this."

"Iris, no, don't! Please, there's no need for that."

"No need? Heather, fucking wake up! If something isn't done he is going to put you in the ground."

"Jesus Christ, you're blowing it all out of proportion! It's not that bad. Art is right when he says you like to stick your nose in other people's business. Leave it alone, Iris!"

"Listen to yourself, Heather! Listen to the crap you're spewing out. Please, get away from him. Get a restraining order. You can stay with me until he clears out of your place."

"You just don't get it! Leave me alone. Leave us alone."

*****

Iris lived at the end of a long drive in a house outside of town. The area was heavily wooded, with venerable yet hardy elm, oak, and maple trees concealing her property from the interstate a quarter-mile away. Her nearest neighbor was Mrs. Venditti, a very pleasant widow who visited once or twice a week to share a cup of tea and chitchat.

When Iris heard the car pull in front of her house she smiled, made sure the tea was ready for Mrs. Venditti, and opened the door.

Art shoved his way in, his tall, powerful body nearly knocking Iris to the floor. He stood and looked at the charts and graphs on Iris's work desk.

"What a load of rubbish," he said. His lips curled in disdain. "I can't believe you're trying to fill Heather's head with all this shit. Who the fuck actually believes in this nowadays?"

"Get out of here!" Iris tried to keep her anger on top of her fear. "You're not welcome in this house. Get out!"

Art turned to her. His dark eyes glittered and his thick, bestial hair stood on end. White, carnivorous teeth flashed in a smile. "Is that any way to treat someone who is practically family? Come on now, Iris, how about some hospitality?"

Iris turned toward the telephone.

Steel fingers gripped her shoulder. "I'd hate to see that phone, or anything else, get damaged. We’re not done talking yet."

Iris jerked away from Art’s hand. She did not try to move toward the phone. "What do you want?"

"You mean you don't know? What kind of an astrologer are you? I thought you could see into the future."

Iris remained silent. She resisted the urge to rub her bruised shoulder.

Art chuckled. "It's simple, really, what I want. I want you to mind your own fucking business. I want you to stop filling Heather's head with all your shit. In fact, I want you to stop talking to Heather, period. She doesn't want to talk to you or see you anymore, anyway. So keep out of our lives."

Iris glanced toward the telephone.

With a quickness that belied his size Art was upon her. He grabbed her hair and forced her face up to his. His lips mashed against hers and his tongue pushed its way into her mouth like a fat serpent. Iris struggled and tried to scream. Art pulled away before Iris's teeth clamped down.

He backed away and smacked his lips. "Mmmm, you taste just like your sister. I bet you're  livelier in bed, though."

Iris spat on the floor, the taste of Art's tongue thick in her mouth.

Art's face stilled. "Just remember what I said, bitch. You keep the fuck out of our lives. If I have to come back, I won't be nearly as nice."

"Get out! Just get out!"

Art smiled and left. Outside, his fiery red Mustang roared to life and shot down the drive, coming dangerously close to the trees as it flung back loose pebbles.

Iris locked the door and walked to the kitchen. She sat on a wooden stool next to the pot of tea. It took a long time for her to stop shaking.

*****

She should have called the police. She didn't, fearing it would solve nothing and put Heather even more in the line of fire.

 Iris would never forgive herself for that decision.

The form in the hospital bed was barely recognizable as her sister. Heather's face was swollen and garish with bruises. Her left cheekbone and orbital socket were shattered. She was unconscious and the doctors weren't sure when she would awaken. They had assured Iris that Heather would recover but that another beating as severe as this could very well result in brain damage or death.

Iris held Heather's cold, unresponsive hand. Tears glittered and spilled out of her eyes.

*****

He was out on bail. Un-fucking-believable. The cops had arrested Art, and then the idiotic fucking judge had actually granted the defense lawyer's request and set bail, which Art made. Now the beast was free as a fucking lark until he was sentenced for the aggravated battery charge his douchbag lawyer had plea-bargained for, as it was now clear that Heather would pull through and the prosecution would not have a manslaughter charge. Art would get a year or two in prison at the most.

There was no doubt in Iris's mind that Art would return to Heather once he was out. And Heather, damn her, would take him back.

That was unacceptable.

Iris did a location chart for the town and plotted its progressions until she found what she needed. A Mars/Saturn conjunct, with Mars in retrograde, squaring Art's Ascendant, along with   retrograde Mercury in the Third House, and a transiting Uranus in the Eighth House squared against Art's natal Sun. All of which fell in an hour ruled by Saturn, just before a Void Moon.

This astrological event would occur at 10:45 PM in three more nights, the last Friday in January. Iris took the time to redo the chart to ensure that her calculations were correct. There was no variation. It was perfect.

The apartment Art was staying at was about a half-hour from Iris's house. With the way he drove that made it closer to twenty minutes. And in the mood Art would be in once he was done talking to Iris it would probably take him no more than fifteen minutes.

*****

On Friday night Iris swallowed down her nerves and called Art's cell phone. Timing was everything. She dialed at 10:20, certain their conversation would not last long.

After two rings Art answered. "Who's this?"

Art’s voice brought Iris's anger to the fore. "It's retribution catching up to you, you piece of shit. It's time for you to pay for what you did to Heather, and I'm not talking about jail time."

"Iris? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about cosmic justice, you cocksucker. You're not going to get off as easy as you think you are."

"Iris, you'd better stop right now if you know what's good for you."

"Fuck you, Art. It’s time to flush you down the toilet."

"Iris, shut the fuck up or I'll..."

Iris cut him off. "You'll do nothing, you fucking pussy. I'm not my sister. You can't fuck with me."

"You don't fucking think so, huh?” Art's rage entered the red zone and Iris knew she had him.  “You'd better fucking run, bitch, 'cause I'm going to show you just how much I can fuck with you!" The phone clicked off.

10:25. It would take Art a couple of minutes to grab his jacket and jump into his car. Then he would push that red Mustang to its limit over roads that were slippery with ice. But the main roads would have been treated and Art had some skill as a driver, so he would make it to Iris's drive. It was essential that he reach her drive.

The minutes crept by. Each one tore a little more from her nerves. Iris could sense the planets above moving along their assigned, inalterable paths. The planets did not care about what was happening below. Their business transcended anything that puny humans could devise. 10:35 turned into 10:40. Iris took a sip of her chai tea and willed herself to calm down, telling herself that everything was happening as it should. She looked at her watch. 10:44.

What if he wasn't coming? What if Art got held up in traffic, or was pulled over for speeding? That would ruin everything. Then she would need to run.

Headlights stabbed through the trees, twisting at the drive's serpentine angles and approaching at a fast rate of speed.

Iris took a deep, steadying breath and looked at her watch. 10:45.

A moment of perfect conjunct between Saturn and a retrograde Mars, with a retrograde Mercury in the Third House, which produced poor judgment and mechanical failure, especially if affecting those whose natal chart showed considerable affliction. Like Art’s.

An undetected fuel line blockage caused the Mustang to stall and lose its power steering just as its wide tires hit a patch of black ice. The tires clawed for traction that was not there and could not swerve from a massive elm tree. The muscle car plowed into the trunk with an explosion of screeching metal and glittering, fragmented glass.

Iris rushed to the door and cracked it open, listening for any movement. Remarkably, the Mustang's headlights still illuminated the area, though the angles of the lights were skewed in unnatural directions. There was a slight hissing sound.

Iris put on her coat and grabbed a long kitchen knife. She walked the fifty or so yards in the cold darkness toward the wreck. The hissing sound came from a radiator that had been shorn in half. The hood of the car was buckled into a "U" shape around the gouged trunk of the tree. Sections of the engine rested in the front seat.

Art lay face-down in the drive on a bed of pebbled glass that shone like bloody diamonds.

He hadn't been wearing a seat belt. Upon impact Art had flown through the windshield.  

His body was torn, broken, and still.

Iris checked her watch. 10:55. The planets above continued on their courses, unconcerned with the tiny piece of carnage beneath them.

The Moon was leaving Virgo. In two and a half hours it would enter Libra. During those two and a half hours the Moon would be Void, a time when a lot of commonplace things got messed up. Details, routinely handled, were missed. Like those from an accident scene investigation.

The police response would take about ten minutes. They would request an ambulance, even though it was obvious the driver was beyond medical help. They would question Iris, but they knew who Art was. They would assume that Art had a grudge against his girlfriend's sister and was looking to settle matters before going to prison. Iris would express shock and surprise. And the Void Moon would keep the police from seeing Iris's number as the last call received on Art's cell phone.

Iris walked back to her home and dialed 911. "Hello? I'd like to report an accident..."

Paul Magnan lives in New England. He has been writing stories that veer from the straight and narrow for many years. Astrology is one of his interests, due to a lifelong friendship with a retired consulting astrologer. He is married and has two sons.