Written and directed by Vachlan Suchos.
Tracing her fingertips over his name, Visola chewed on her lip. Moving to the ticketing booth, she leaned close to the glass and spoke into the microphone. “When does Maelstrom start?” she demanded.
“It actually just started a few minutes ago,” the clerk told her. “But there are about fifteen minutes of previews, so you probably wouldn’t miss anything if you went in now!”
“What’s the run time?” Visola asked.
“Ah, let’s see. Just about two hours,” he informed her.
Visola looked at her watch. It was 9:30 PM. “I need to know exactly how long this movie is,” she told him.
“119 minutes,” he informed her. “It’s a really amazing movie. I highly recommend it. I took my wife to see it the other day, and she just cried and cried. The main character is really sympathetic. You wouldn’t think she’d be sympathetic, because she’s doing all these awful things… but you really feel for her.”
Visola grimaced. She slapped a few bills down and pushed them forward. “Just give me a fucking ticket,” she snapped.
The clerk nodded, and printed one for her.
Collecting the piece of paper, Visola moved into the theatre. Her ticket was taken, and the stub was returned to her. She stuffed it into her bra as she walked forward, stopping at the concession stand.
“Can I get you anything, Ma’am?”
“Nachos,” Visola said darkly, reaching under her jacket for more money. “And popcorn. Extra butter.”
“Sure!” said the cashier, rushing to fill her order. “Anything to drink, Ma’am?”
“Diet Dr. Pepper,” Visola ordered.
The clerk handed her the items she had ordered, with a big smile. “Enjoy your movie! Are you seeing Maelstrom? It’s spectacular.”
Visola growled softly. “Not as spectacular as the fireworks are going to be at midnight.”
“Oh! I’m sure they will be. Happy new year!”
Marching toward her cinema, with arms full of goodies, Visola muttered to herself about invasion of privacy, and wondered out loud whether she could sue her husband for producing a movie based on her life. As she struggled to open the doors to the dark room, she acknowledged to herself that she was being foolish. The timing of the movie’s end was dangerously close to the scheduled bombing of the city. If the movie ended at 11:30 PM, she would have a mere thirty minutes to get out of the city, or she would surely fall victim to her own assault.
As she navigated through the theatre, trying to find a seat, she realized that she liked the thrill of the time pressure. She liked flirting with the concept of self-destruction. She would have remained in the city until the last minute anyway, soaking up the sights and sounds so she could remember them forever. Once, in recent history, an American president had described a brutal attack as “a date which will live in infamy.” However, Visola felt that after midnight, the current president would be forced to find stronger words. More than any other date, this one would live in her mind as her greatest victory. No other dates would ever be as important as this one, to the future of the world.
But for the moment, Visola wanted to enjoy her nachos.
Sinking down into her chair, she immediately grabbed a chip and generously dipped it before stuffing it into her mouth. “Dammit,” Visola grumbled as the cheesy goodness smothered her tongue. “I should have left America alone so I could get more of these heavenly nachos.” She continued to indulge in substantial helpings of the sinful snack food, and made plenty of pleasure noises as the previews came to an end. As the movie began, she switched to popcorn. “Mmmm,” she said softly. This is some great tasting stuff. At least I can say that I took some time to sample the cultural cuisine and fine ethnic food of the locals before I annihilated them. And as delicious as this is, I do miss a good manatee steak.
Visola was distracted from her thoughts as the title screen and names of important actors began scrolling across a vignette of an ocean storm, with plenty of ominous and foreboding music. She was already hooked. She felt thrilled and eager to see what happened next; and the movie had hardly begun. The main character appeared on the screen, and she was beautiful—even in high definition. Visola nodded in approval of the casting choice, but noted to herself smugly that the woman had probably needed to dye her hair to achieve the precise hue of Visola’s naturally perfect color. The main character was smiling and hugging her identical twin sister, and the two were poking fun at each other and making jokes. Just as the main character began waving goodbye to board a plane, Visola received a text message. She looked down, trying to conceal the light of her phone from the audience. It was Princess Yamako.
Why aren’t you at the meeting point? We need to get out of L.A.
She quickly texted back:
Shhh. I’m watching a movie. It ends at 11:30. I’ll try to get to the sub once it ends.
The response came immediately:
Are you insane? You can’t TRY to get to the sub. You HAVE to get to the sub.
Visola smiled at the frantic capital letters, and replied:
Shhhh! It’s a really intense movie, stop bothering me.
Princess Yamako responded again:
You can watch the movie another time! Tell me the title, I’ll download a copy now. You can watch it on the sub as we get away from here. Please! Stop freaking me out.
Visola narrowed her eyes. The movie actually was starting now, and she wanted to focus.
I need the full theatre experience with surround sound! Your laptop or TV doesn’t compare to the big screen.
One final text came from the princess:
You’re a madwoman.
Turning her phone off completely, Visola tucked it in her jacket. She did not care anymore. She did not care if the whole city was falling down around her, and everything was burning to ashes around this theatre. She just wanted to relax and watch her husband’s movie. It seemed that the main character had flown to New York, while her sister was at a medical conference in Cairo. The pretty red-haired doctor gave a brilliant and moving speech, which was followed by an incredibly romantic scene between her and a nerdy-but-adorable therapist. It seemed that they were old flames who had been separated for some time.
Visola’s breath caught in her throat, as the entire theatre gasped. In the middle of a conversation between the woman and her lover, a shot was fired. Visola accidentally bit down on her tongue instead of a piece of popcorn, for it seemed that she had forgotten how to chew. Her heart ached as she was forced to watch the therapist cry and hold his dying lover. She closed her eyes.
“Why are you doing this to me, Vachlan?” she whispered.
A dark-haired man came to the scene, trying to save the woman who had just been killed—but he was too late. He took the therapist and the woman’s body into a dark SUV, and explained that she had been shot by the CIA for foolish reasons. He expressed terror at what he expected would be his wife’s reaction. He ominously predicted the end of the world.
As the movie finished with the aftermath of that event, the scenes went back to New York. Finally, the movie started to incorporate some of the storyline of the original screenplay of Maelstrom that Visola had read. She could see that Vachlan had replaced most of the European locations with American ones. Specifically, he had set certain scenes in Arlington, Virginia and Miami, Florida. There were many other updates on weaponry and technology in the fight scenes to make it more modern, along with changes to the warrior’s personality and family to make it more relevant to their current situation. But the story was the same.
If anything, the story was far better than the first time she had read it. Vachlan was a much better writer than he had been 250 years ago. He had been through so much more; he had experienced so much more of all the good and bad the world had to offer, and he was wiser and kinder. His thoughts and perspectives shone through in each of the movie’s scenes, and Visola missed him so much that it was unbearable. She wanted to turn to her sid
e, to smile at him and compliment him, and tell him how much she loved his work. But the seat next to her only contained an empty tray of nachos. She reached over to place her fingers on the plastic, feeling the remaining crumbs.
She loved the nachos, but touching them was not quite as gratifying as it would have been to rest her hand on her husband’s muscular thigh. She felt a strange sense of loss as she leaned back in her chair and returned her eyes to the screen. She was puzzled by the fact that the main character was having a flashback to her father. It was an older man who wore a giant red beard that was tied into a braid beneath his chin.
“You are a great warrior, child. You come from a long line of brave Vikings who would be proud of your skill and strength. But always remember the reason we fight. A true warrior never forgets the reason they go to battle, for that is more significant than the fight itself; more vital than winning.” The older man reached out and clapped his huge hand against his daughter’s shoulder. “The most important thing a warrior can ever know is when to put down his weapon. It is important to know when to pick it up, and important to know when to turn around and walk away—but once you get started fighting, it becomes hard to stop. Promise me, that when the time comes, and you find yourself addicted to the destruction and unable to stop yourself—promise me that you will remember my face, and my voice, and search deep inside yourself for the strength to put down your weapon.”
“I promise, Papa.”
Visola stared at the screen. She had forgotten to breathe for several seconds, and her heart felt like it was failing. She pressed a hand against her chest. That mother fucker, she thought to herself brokenly. I told him that in private. How dare he bring my father into this? If Papa was still alive, and he knew what had happened to Sio—he would have done far worse. Far worse. She tried to convince herself of this, but she knew it was not true. Her father had been a huge proponent of peace and forgiveness. His lust for fighting came from a desire for perpetual preparedness and protection of family.
He never would have approved of what she had done in recent months. Papa, she thought to herself, shutting her eyes tightly. I’m so sorry. I let you down. She wanted to keep her eyes closed for the entire duration of the movie, but the dialogue was too beautiful. She could not stop watching.
For over 100 minutes, Visola was held spellbound by the beautiful images on the screen. She temporarily forgot her pain as she was swept away into the life of the characters on screen. It was loosely based on her, but the main character still had certain elements that made her a stranger. It was breathtaking, and enlightening. Visola felt like she was learning about herself by examining her situation from this new, insightful point of view. It was subtle, yet profound. It was Vachlan’s best work yet. It was emotional, suspenseful, and intense.
It was a revelation.
Finally, the movie arrived at the climax. It was the moment that Visola had been expecting all along, and she gripped the sides of her seat in anticipation. She needed to see this. She needed to see this so badly. It was the moment when the warrior finally found peace. Just like in the original story, the warrior’s ship was unexpectedly trapped in a massive maelstrom. The visuals were stunning as the gigantic warship was flipped on its side, and all the crew members and equipment from the boat were tossed into the sea. All the weaponry was dislodged from the boat, and began churning in the whirlpool, smashing into the people and the boat, and creating general mayhem. There were screams of horror as many of the crew members perished.
But the look of peace on the warrior’s face as the ocean currents carried her body; there it was. She looked around, and saw her people dying around her, and knew that her own end was near. It was too chaotic, too violent. Even she could not survive the wrath of the sea. Visola watched, with tears in her eyes at the beauty of nature’s justice. It moved her just as much as it had the first time.
Then, something changed. The warrior began to think of her husband and children; her reason to live. Brief flashback scenes played, of happier times. Her eyes grew hard and determined, as she began to struggle. She swam, and swam, kicking and stroking with all her might, to break free from the powerful current. Visola held her breath. She watched in wonder as the warrior fought for her own survival. She watched with relief as the warrior swam free.
“He changed the ending,” she whispered. “No. She is supposed to die in the end. That’s the whole point.”
The movie ended with a sweet reconciliation scene between the main character and her husband. “I fought my way out of the Maelstrom for you,” she told him. “All I could see was your face. I realized that I had to let go of my obsession if I wanted to be happy. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to live until I was about to die. I didn’t realize how much I loved you—and the kids.” The woman moved into the bedroom where her children slept. Finally, for the first time in the movie, a clear shot of the children’s faces was shown.
Visola stared. “No.” She stood up from her seat and moved into the aisle, and walked closer to the screen. “No,” she said in disbelief. “No, no, no, no, no.” There, on the screen, were images of the two people she loved most in the world. The two people she had tried to entirely erase from her mind. They were her children.
Vachlan had gotten Ivory and Ronan to play the children in the movie.
“Sit down!” someone shouted. “You’re blocking the screen.”
Visola ignored this as she moved forward and touched the screen, with tears running down her face. “Ivory,” she whispered, seeing the little girl’s smile. “Ro-Ro.” Visola lifted a hand to her mouth, and found that there was wetness all over her cheeks, and her lips were trembling. She was gasping and crying, and having trouble remaining upright. She felt like a cement truck had dumped a few tons of emotion on top of her, and she could not breathe. “My little Ro-Ro.”
As the movie ended, Visola found herself gripping a nearby seat to keep herself standing. She lowered her face, but not so low that she could not see the dedication at the end of the film.
For my wife.
It’s never too late.
Love, Vachlan
Visola felt a strange sound escape her throat. She turned back to the audience and gazed at them. Most of them were crying, or close to tears due the touching reunion of the warrior with her family. This enraged Visola, quite suddenly. How dare they feel anything for her? How dare they sympathize? How dare Vachlan use her own children as emotional weapons against her?
“This movie sucks!” Visola shouted. She looked around for something to throw at the screen. She grabbed a plastic container filled with pop and launched it directly at the middle of the credits. “It’s atrocious how bad that was. We should all ask for our money back! What miserable idiot wrote this shit? And doesn’t he have anything better to do than waste our time with this drivel?”
A man in the audience stood up. “Actually, it’s one of the greatest movies I’ve ever seen.”
“Yeah!” shouted a teenage boy. “Those were some epic fight scenes.”
Another man stood up to add his feedback. “I hear that it’s based on Visola Ramaris—what an amazing woman.”
“Are you people crazy?” Visola asked. “She’s a monster! She’s killing Americans. So many Americans.”
“Didn’t you understand the movie?” a girl asked her in confusion. “That poor girl lost her sister. She was so brokenhearted that she just lashed out at the world. How tragic! What she must have gone through!”
Visola scowled at this.
“And it was so romantic,” said an older lady, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Not just the movie, but the man who wrote it for his wife… I wish my husband was like that!”
“I’m so glad there was a happy ending!” said a teenage girl in the room. “It would have been awful if she just died and never saw her kids again.”
Visola threw her hands up in the air. “People. People! Seriously. That woman does not deserve a happy ending. After what she did? She sh
ould have died in that maelstrom. She should have died.”
“I think that most people would forgive her and understand why she did what she did,” said a young man in the audience. “I forgive her. I guess the real question would be whether she can forgive herself.”
“I forgive her, too,” said another woman in the audience.
Another older man nodded, starting to understand the situation. “I forgive her.”
Visola stared at them all, speechless. She felt tears on her eyelashes. “Would you forgive her if she told you that she was about to drop an atomic bomb on Los Angeles in…” Visola glanced at her watch. “Less than 25 minutes?”
Some people laughed at this, while others gasped or stared at her in surprise.
“Less than 25 minutes!” Visola shouted hysterically. “Would you forgive her then?”
“I think I would ask her nicely to not do that,” said one man carefully.
“Surely she could still make a phone call and cancel the attack?” asked another man hopefully. “Surely she could still reconsider?”
“Yeah. She’s not gonna reconsider. Her sister’s still dead, and she’s still pissed. And there is no happy ending.” Visola reached up and pulled the blonde wig off her head, revealing her red hair. She turned and moved to the emergency exit. “Less than 25 minutes,” she told everyone as she opened the door. She looked over her shoulder at them without pity or remorse. “Get out of the city.”
Exiting the movie theatre, she left a room filled with terrified citizens behind her. She was surprised to find Yamako pulling up on a motorcycle. Due to Yamako’s microchip technology, she always knew exactly where everyone was at all times. It was disconcerting. There was no longer any use in asking how did you find me? The Japanese woman removed her helmet to glare at Visola.
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