[Part 1]
That of course, brings us to the final day of production, collectively called “V-Day” by both the trades and the survivors who were there that day.
The “big eruption” scene.
It was time to lay waste to the carefully constructed town of Pompeii with a series of controlled explosions filmed from 10 different angles, the picture’s “money shot”. It should have been the icing on the cake, an SFX-heavy extravaganza to cap off the end of the film. The preceding days leading up to the final day of shooting had gone by uninterrupted, and there was a genuine feeling amongst the crew that the worst was behind us. Several actors whose roles had already been finished decided to leave early rather than stay behind, no doubt spooked by Leah’s sudden passing. It’s hard to remember any of the good times before “The Last Supper”, everything from before then seems to have evaporated into a poisonous fog. All that stands out now is the nightmare that came afterward.
I got to the set early that day. There’d been a deep pit in my chest the entire week, a constant fear of another disaster just waiting around the corner. Most of the cast and crew had moved on, Evelyn doing most of the backbreaking labor of boosting morale. She had a real knack for lifting just about anyone’s spirit, just being a good set of ears and a shoulder to lean on. Still, I was scared, petrified even. Security had been on high alert, though the three checkpoints to get on set did little to ease my nerves. It was nice to cruise specific parts of the set before everyone else showed up, especially when trying to get inspiration for a scene.
That day, I was just enjoying the peace. That part of the “city” had already been struck with molten debris in the film and thus was in a state of disarray. Piles of crushed neon and “rubble” lay in just about every direction and the flickering lights had not been turned off from the previous night. It was eerie, to say the least, made worse by the fact that Leah had been discovered only a block away from this site. I looked upwards towards the scale replica of Mt. Vesuvius, instantly imagining the peak blowing straight off, allowing the raw heat of planet Earth to come spilling out.
I stood still, basking in that misty early morning, allowing myself to find comfort in this last pocket of peace before the storm clouds moved in permanently. Without thinking, I took out my camera and snapped a photo of our recreated volcano, on the very last frame no less. This photo was truly worth a thousand words and many would later go on to compare it to the famed “last photo” of Mt. St. Helens taken right before its eruption.
The SFX involved with the controlled demolition was nothing fancy and had been used hundreds of times before. A series of hydrogen gas canisters had been placed at strategic spots all along the ridge of the volcano, timed to go off in sequence when detonated from a safe distance. The canisters had been set to continually fire off short bursts of fire for added atmosphere with several tons of prepared ash and soot following right. The “main eruption” would simply consist of a collection of canisters that would fill the space inside the volcano with a predetermined amount of gas that would be enough to blow up the sectioned-off peak but not enough to cause catastrophic damage.
That was the promise.
We were told it had been tested numerous times, first on scale models then full-size replicas. All out in the desert, all heavily supervised, and all went off without any trouble. The margin for error had been so thin, not once did anyone suspect something like V-Day could have happened.
The scene was to feature Evelyn witnessing the main eruption from her mountainside villa, only for it to be engulfed by the pyroclastic cloud. The twist would be that Evelyn would dive into a pool and swim safely to an underwater bunker where she’d be rescued by Mario later. A trap door was in place inside the bunker to allow Evelyn a safe exit. Emergency sprinklers had been scattered throughout the set just in case, but the likelihood of a fire breaking out had always been assumed to be minimal.
We began on time, our first shots of the day featuring Evelyn alone in her villa, waiting for Mario to arrive, both unaware they’d waited too late to leave Pompeii. We broke to go meet up with Mario, who’d be in his car racing through the ruined Pompeii trying to rescue his love. A second unit would stay with Evelyn while I stayed on the ground level with Mario to film with him before making our way back up the mountain.
“Dead silence. No music, no dialogue, not a single breath. The looming Vesuvius, smoking, and bellowing with life, gives no warning to the armageddon that’s about to unfold”
That’s what it read in my script, the final build-up to the big boom. Our “boom” would commence on my word, just three beats after “Action!”. Everyone was in place, our SFX guys standing by to begin the sequence, Mario looking much worse for wear, if only due to the excellent makeup work done by our team. From behind the wheel of our mounted car, he flashed a thumbs-up that he was ready to go. I did the usual director bit, announced places, confirmed everyone was safe and secure from the blast, then took a long, deep breath before initiating the countdown.
Three…
Two…
One…
You were expecting the boom, right? So were we. Nothing had happened though, not at first. There was no explosion, no fire, not even the slightest hint of danger. I immediately asked our SFX guys to check the canisters, to which I got no response. I called out again over the radio, but still nothing but radio silence. Panic was quickly settling in so I gathered some of the crew to join me in figuring out what was wrong. Mario joined us in a golf cart and we began making our way up the volcano when it finally happened. There was no warning, no rumble, no smoke, nothing. Just an unearthly silence, followed by…
BOOM!!
Two minutes.
That’s how long the top of our volcano had been filling with hydrogen gas when the canisters finally ignited.
Two minutes is all it took for our lives to turn into a living vision of hell.
One instant we were driving up the side road towards Evelyn, the next everything in sight was burning with the bright intensity of our hot sun. The earth shook harder than I thought possible as my vision dissolved into a messy blur of black and orange. The force of the blast ruptured both eardrums instantly, leaving only a dull piercing screech as the only thing audible. The golf cart twisted out from under us, launching everyone from the vehicle in separate directions. I was just barely able to get on my feet when the first piece of debris landed right in front of me, missing me by mere inches. One glance upwards towards the wrecked volcano was all I could get before the next flaming mass of molten styrofoam came crashing down. A small chunk managed to hit my right thigh, instantly causing second-degree burns all down my leg. The searing hot pain almost sent me back to the ground, and I tried running to one of the makeshift dressing rooms behind the city facade only for another burning pile of foam mountain to tear right through it.
In the distance I could hear faint screams and panicked cries as the cast and crew fled in all directions, trying to escape the fiery cataclysm we’d just unleashed. I looked around me, desperately searching for any of the comrades who’d accompanied me, but I could neither see nor hear much of anything through the growing fire and smoke. It was a monstrous sight to behold, one ripped right out of the same books that had inspired me in the first place. The ruined peak of Mt. Vesuvius had blown clean off, leaving only a gaping hole surrounded in flames. I looked up to where Evelyn’s villa had been only moments before, but there was nothing to be seen in the enormous fireball that quickly consumed the entire mountainside.
It was my absolute worst nightmare come to life. Only it was so much worse because there was no waking up from this. If I wasn’t on the precipice of hell, I would have taken full advantage of this by filming every minute of it. Seconds later, the canisters malfunctioned and flames began shooting up all down what remained of the volcano, adding even more fuel to the fire. A desperate cry from somewhere nearby broke me from my trance, and I frantically searched for its source. It was Mario. He’d slid down an embankment and was now pinned to the ground by the shredded golf cart. I had no time to move to help him, as another flaming chunk of the mountain crashed down right beside me and rolled down the hill, slamming right into Mario and the golf cart, carrying the two out of sight.
This was it. My life, my dream, my movie, everything literally up in flames with me standing there, powerless to stop it. Those were my final thoughts before another piece of flaming debris fell from the sky and mercifully put me out of my misery.
The next thing I can remember is waking up in the hospital, tubes and needles seemingly sticking out of every part of me. My hearing was still essentially gone, my vision blurry, and the pain excruciating. Thankfully, my screams of agony would bring on a torrent of drugs that would keep the pain at bay for the rest of my time there. Consciousness would flow in and out over the next two weeks, but eventually, my hearing would return little by little. My vision would likewise come into focus just as quickly.
It was called a miracle recovery by my doctors, who’d initially predicted I wouldn’t make it through surgery. I was shown the large piece of steel rebar that had been removed from my skull just three weeks prior before asking to see a mirror. Before doing so, the doctors advised that in a few months, cosmetic surgery could “patch up” any major damage left. My reflection told a much bleaker story, as my right eye socket was twisted inwards grotesquely while my left lip was curled downwards into a permanent half frown, all visible from behind the curtain of scorched flesh. Though far from beautiful beforehand, I now bore resemblance to a Frankensteined voodoo doll.
The police would show up the very next day, as was to be expected. I asked immediately about Mario, about Evelyn, about any information on the explosion. The doctors had refused to say anything about the accident while also heavily restricting access to any sort of outside media, thinking it was in my best interest to “heal in peace” until the police arrived. The detectives couldn’t tell me much, giving the usual “open investigation” bullshit, just wanting to check up on me and let me know they’d speak with me more once I was discharged.
My convalescence would last only a few more days despite the doctors wanting to keep me for a little while longer, curious about the nature of miraculous recovery. I was too eager to get out and clear my name of any potential wrongdoing, as I had feared would be the case the entire time I was hospitalized. Those fears were initially proved to be correct when I arrived at the police station only to be immediately taken to an interrogation room. I could tell my appearance was rather off-putting to the detectives, as they paused often and would sparsely look me straight in the face. I did my best to maintain an easygoing facade, but it quickly crumbled as the integration wore on. Not because of any accusations or fears of what may happen to me. But from the sheer gravity and loss of the disaster.
Six people in total, including Evelyn and two of the crew members that were with me, had died in the initial blast. 25 more were still hospitalized, Mario among them. With Leah, that brought Pompeii Inferno’s body count to seven. Six of the seven bodies had already been retrieved and identified, with Evelyn’s body being the last uncounted. It was agonizing, each new piece of information only driving the knife in deeper. The entire studio lot had caught fire due to the explosion, and the marginal sprinkler system only bought enough time for an evacuation of the lot. By the time firefighters arrived though, there was little they could do besides put out the smoldering ruins. Outside of the front offices and one sound stage, the studio was writing off the entire lot as a loss. The only good news it seemed is that the investigation had already largely wrapped, and the culprits behind the “attack” had already been uncovered.
That was the first mention of the word “attack”. Up till that point, I’d assumed the accident had been just that, an accident. A grave miscalculation on our part or something faulty with the SFX, but still an accident. It couldn’t have possibly been an intentional attack. I feared the worst and prepared myself for an onslaught of intense questioning. The detectives started by asking about Mario and what my relationship was like with him, with his fans. They kept asking about fans and if I’d seen anyone suspicious on set. I answered no, that our relationship was cordial but not close, and that I never had any interaction with Mario’s fans. The detectives pressed on, asking questions about the studio, the hiring process, and then about the SFX involved with the explosion. I did my best to answer their questions, but I was more than a little confused by the seemingly random line of inquiry. It was exhausting, made worse by my ongoing withdrawals from the pain medication.
The interrogation, as it were, went on for over five hours. During that time, the detectives would try to play me against Mario, try to get me to “confess”, stating that they “knew everything” and that Mario would talk once he was released from the hospital. They threw every trick they could at me, but it didn’t work. Because there was nothing to tell. I had nothing of value to add to their investigation, no motive to want to blow up my own movie set. I was defiant to the end, finally throwing down the “lawyer card” to end the relentless questioning. Though I was left with the warning that the detectives would see me again should they uncover any lies or holes in my story.
The ensuing weeks blurred together, each day spilling faster into the next. Reporters, tabloids, friends, and everyone in between lined up outside my door, trying to get “the scoop” from me. That first night alone was the worst. I was finally able to get the full story, at least what was being made available to the public, from various newspapers and tabloids. “Intentional sabotage”, that’s what the police and the studio were saying. The MDMA incident, Leah’s death, the “eruption”, it was all connected, all a part of a dastardly scheme to take out “America’s Golden Boy”.
Mind you, that’s what the official story would end up being. From surveillance footage, eyewitness accounts, and an internal investigation by the studio itself, it had been determined that a cell of radical extremists had infiltrated the production and plotted to destroy the film and studio. Why you may ask? Well, that’s the question no one was ever able to answer conclusively. Over 10,000 photos of Mario, myself, and the rest of the cast had been found amongst the accused’s possessions, along with that bizarro manifesto that talked about “bringing a fire of brimstone and horror to Hollywood”. They made a lot of fuss in the press about it, though I’m not sure why as it was essentially illegible, with only a few recognizable names and vague threats legible.
What is known is that security camera footage caught several crew members moving in and out of the Mt. Vesuvius set throughout the days leading up to the disaster. Tracing back footage, they were able to track the group to the same hotel most of the cast and crew were staying at, which included Leah. Further analysis of the security camera footage from that night also revealed the same group of people loitering around the lobby and car lot during this time, only for the footage to conveniently cut out before Leah’s actual disappearance.
That seemed to be a common theme throughout the unfolding investigation, “convenience”. How convenient it was that the crew members staffed with setting off the explosion had been the ones caught loitering in the lobby before Leah’s disappearance. How convenient it had been that various pieces of evidence such as MDMA were found inside said crewmembers’ hotel rooms. How convenient it was that Mario and I, the alleged targets of this insidious attack, had both miraculously survived what should have been life-ending injuries. A series of coincidences, none suspicious on their own, but when looked at from afar, tell a story that leads right back to one person and one person alone.
So why did no one but me see it?
Truth be told, I don’t blame you all for believing his lies. He was an incredible actor after all, and the “attack” story made for salacious headlines that captured the hearts of millions across the world. Though fringe outlets and conspiracy theorists would endlessly speculate as to the root cause of the disaster, Mario and his reputation would survive the fallout completely unscathed, his pretty face included. His case was called another “medical miracle”, just as mine had been. Second and third-degree burns covered 75% of his body, along with a nearly severed left leg. The leg would never fully heal, and he would walk with a noticeable limp from that day forward. But the rest of his injuries would heal and soon he was back in front of the camera, the new poster boy of Sunrise Studios. I never visited him after my release, nor did he attempt to reach out to me after his. I’d failed to listen to my gut when I had the chance and seven people had paid the ultimate price. I was determined to never let such a grave miscalculation happen again.
My fall from grace was thankfully a swift and merciful one. Sunrise executives, including the same woman who’d first offered to acquire Starry Eyed for the studio, arrived at my home a few days after my discharge and interrogation. She was polite but to the point when detailing the fallout and financial consequences of V-Day. Pompeii had been shut down permanently and was in the process of being written off as a tax liability. Due to it being shelved and unseen by the public, the studio stood to make most of its money back. The entire Seattle lot, however, had been condemned and was scheduled to be demolished and sold. Various lawsuits had also been filed by both survivors and victims’ families, with many more soon to come. The studio was in a bind, and with the relentless bad press and outside pressure mounting, it had been decided that our working relationship could no longer go forward.
Surprisingly, I didn’t fight it or even try to negotiate. The deal presented to me was more than favorable, with a nice seven-figure sum in exchange for “canceling” the remainder of my contract, as well as an additional seven-figure offer for the complete ownership of Starry Eyed. It may have been difficult for some, parting with the only thing left untainted by the disaster. For me, it was just another piece of deadweight chaining me to the past. There was nothing I could do to restore the lives I’d taken, no direction for me to go but forward. Indeed, I had to cut out the rot from the inside if I stood any chance at redemption. I signed the deal just as fast as I’d signed all the others before, hoping to leave Hollywood and Pompeii Inferno behind me for good.
Those first few years after my banishment from Hollywood were excruciating, made only worse by the relentless hordes of paparazzi and Mario fans hounding my front door every day. Changing addresses would only result in a temporary reprieve before my location was leaked to the press. For several years I became a virtual recluse, only venturing outside for the occasional walk or essential item. With very little left in the way of family and friends, my isolation only grew as the disaster slowly faded from public memory, becoming yet another piece of “yesterday’s news”. Though the relative peace was welcome, it left nothing else to distract me from the pain and loss of that day. The guilt ate me alive from the inside, my dreams haunted by the smoldering faces of all those who’d lost their lives because of me. It became a cancerous tumor that slowly drained away any remaining willpower I had left. Suicide was a daily topic of thought and for many years, I would sleep with a loaded gun right under my pillow. During those nights, it was the only comfort I had left in this world; the knowledge that should the weight become too unbearable, at least I had a way out.
However, the strength and will of the soul cannot be underestimated. After almost five years of wallowing in self-pity, I finally began to reemerge into society. My uncle, one of the only remaining family members I had left, convinced me to return to university in an attempt to find my new passion in life. It was there that I would rediscover my long-dormant interest in astronomy. Over the next few years, I earned my education degree and began to start my new life. It was difficult at first, as the ever-present paparazzi would show up at any given opportunity to further harass me and my loved ones. There was also the occasional run-in with the diehard Mario fanatic, which always ended in the filing of a new restraining order. These incidents would become more sporadic and as the years continued to go by, my strength slowly returned. Day by day, hour by hour, I found myself again.
And that’s how the story should have ended. But as we know, that’s not what happened.
Through sheer willpower and determination, I’d managed to pick up the shattered remains of my life and rebuild them into something new. It was exhilarating, giving impassioned lectures on the nature of the cosmos and sparking conversations that lasted for hours after class had ended. My students all loved me, even the few scattered Mario fans that knew of my brief stint in Hollywood. I had my reservations, becoming instantly paranoid the moment Mario or Pompeii Inferno was inevitably brought up. But as the years went by, interest in the disaster waned until it eventually dried up completely. I let my guard down, stopped moving every few years, and eventually settled down in my home state of Western Kentucky, content to live out the remainder of my life as a college professor.
All of that would come crashing to an end during one fateful afternoon in early 2022 when I came home to find a plain white envelope with my name written on it, the Sunset Studios logo visible in the right corner.
40 years.
40 years of peace and tranquility, undone in an instant by a single letter. I wasn’t sure if I should even open it. My hands trembled as flashes of V-Day and all the trauma it caused came flooding back, nearly causing me to pass out from hyperventilating. It was more than just the letter itself. The handwriting. I recognized it immediately. Though it had been four decades since I’d last seen it, I knew that ridiculously oversized penmanship anywhere.
Mario.
As hard as I’d tried to block out any industry news, little trickles of information would still find their way to me over the years. I knew that Mario had retired from acting some years ago after becoming the head of Sunrise. Since then the studio had acquired several other smaller studios and was well on its way to becoming the biggest player in Tinseltown. I wasn’t sure what could be in the letter, but seeing as it had been 40 years since the disaster, I eventually thought that surely there was no harm in opening it. I didn’t have to respond and if I didn’t like what it said then I could just throw it away.
It was so much worse than I could have expected. The letter was from Mario himself, handwritten in the most extravagant cursive I’d ever seen and using what appeared to be gold ink. The wax seal with the studio logo was an especially sickening touch. In a nutshell, the letter was a “peace offering” of sorts. Mario started by apologizing for not being there to fight for me following the incident, writing it was one of the biggest regrets of his career. He said as the head of Sunrise Studios, it was his job to “rectify past mistakes”. The studio would be holding a special film festival in the coming weeks to honor its past cinematic achievements, with plans to screen Starry Eyed as its first film. Moreover, Mario stated that he’d personally written the letter to ask if I was willing to present the film during the festival.
It was a clever idea on his part. On the surface, it was a harmless invitation back into a world I’d left behind decades ago. It’s so easy to say in hindsight I should have known it was a trap. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the culprits behind the attack were long dead and Mario’s legion of loyal zombies had seen their numbers shrink considerably over the years. Surely the worst was behind me, right? The allure of Hollywood and the silver screen had never truly left, and I still kept my father’s memory alive with monthly trips to the movies and the massive personal library of movies that could easily outmatch any video store. Included in the letter were instructions to claim vouchers for plane tickets, and should I accept the invitation, the studio was fully prepared to pay for all other expenses during my trip.
I could lie to you and say I wanted to say no, that my gut instinct warned me that this was a horrible idea, potentially fatal, and to just shred the letter and move on with my life as I had done all those years ago. But as I said, that would be a lie. The truth is that I did want to go. Not to satisfy my own bruised ego, or to settle some imaginary feud with Mario. My desire to seek the truth, while never truly dead, had dimmed considerably over the years. I’d done well with my life since, far more successful than I’d ever been as a director. I was about to secure a tenured position at my university and several smart investments over the year were just starting to pay off, with my net worth sitting comfortably in the eight-digit realm. Retirement was just within view and I had desired to spend the rest of my remaining years traveling the globe.
Yet still, there was part of me that missed the allure of the good life, the unabashed excess of fame and celebrity. Seeing this opportunity, not as an invitation but as a bon voyage, I accepted Mario’s proposal and made plans to visit Hollywood for the first time in 40 years. This was not for me or Mario or Sunset, I told myself, but merely for “old times’ sake”. One final chance to enjoy the magic I’d captured in that celluloid bottle over 40 years ago before it too was lost to the sands of time.
A costly mistake that would prove to be my last.
[Part 1]