The whole world was searching for her—her face was on every TV screen, every magazine cover—and yet, she was about to march straight into that mini-mart and take her place at the end of the line. Her entire future now hung on the hope that no one would see through her cover.
Her sunglasses were dark and oversize. The wig was of the highest quality, made from real hair. And while she’d always been thin, it was more in a lean and sinewy personal trainer kind of way, as opposed to the gaunt and bony look she had now. Weeks of poor nutrition and little to no exercise had left her looking haunted and stark. Although she was eager to return to a healthier, stronger version of herself, she had to admit it did lend a certain authenticity to her current disguise.
It’d been a while since she’d worn this particular getup. The frayed denim mini and black lace camisole were the opposite of what her fans would expect, which was why they had never once failed her.
Though thanks to her injury, the usual shoes she paired the outfit with had to be swapped for a flip-flop on one foot and a big, black medical boot on the other. At the last minute, she’d pulled on a long-sleeved army jacket, figuring it would help her feel less exposed, and also cover the telltale burn scar on the inside of her arm.
She had a lot to lose, and the game she was playing was risky at best. One false move and the entire thing would backfire, resulting in the sort of headlines that could end her career, or worse—wind up getting her killed by whoever was out there hunting for her.
Still, she needed to make her move before Paul found her. There were a few places she knew he would look; she just didn’t know in what order.
She climbed out of the Jeep and headed inside. Figuring she might as well pick up a few things while she was at it, she filled her arms with two large bottles of water, a family-size bag of M&M’s, aspirin, toothpaste, a toothbrush, body lotion, and small bottles of cheap shampoo and conditioner.
“Next!” the cashier barked, her eyes squinting in disapproval when Madison stepped forward and dumped her supplies on the counter. The clerk tallied her purchases, all the while directing the occasional condemning glance at the plunging neckline of Madison’s sheer lace camisole. “Anything else?” She chomped her gum, acting as though Madison was taking too long even though there was no one behind her.
“Um, yeah. Twenty on pump number five.”
“And?”
The clerk quirked a brow in annoyance, but Madison was too busy staring at the front page of the LA Times displayed on the rack just beside her.
Instead of the usual Where Is Madison Brooks? headline, this one screamed: Who Is Madison Brooks?
“Hello? Anything else?”
With a shaky hand, Madison added the paper to the pile, handed over the money, and got the hell out of there.
After filling her tank, she drove a few blocks, pulled into an empty parking lot, reached for the paper, and began to read.
Breaking News: Madison Brooks’s True Identity Revealed!
By Trena Moretti
In a town built on make-believe, it should come as no surprise that missing Hollywood A-lister Madison Brooks just might turn out to be as fictional as the characters she portrays in her movies.
The story of her ascent from poor little orphan girl to Hollywood’s most highly paid and sought-after star is nothing more than a glossy facade meant to hide a much darker tale.
In a stunning revelation on In-Depth Sunday night, I revealed a birth certificate, believed to be that of Madison Brooks, that states her real name as MaryDella Slocum, her place of birth as West Virginia, and her parents as the deceased Henry and WillaJean Slocum—two small-time hustlers with an extensive criminal background.
A far cry from the bio Madison sold us.
Hours before my show went live, Layla Harrison, writer of the Beautiful Idols blog, and one of the four teens recently arrested in Joshua Tree in connection with Madison’s disappearance, posted an entry allegedly torn from the diary of Madison/MaryDella that would’ve placed her at fourteen years old at the time. The piece, shared below, reveals the young star to be far more calculating and conniving than her pristine persona ever let on.
Numerous mentions of P seem to point to Paul Banks, who . . .
Madison’s gaze raced down the page. By the time she reached the end, she could barely breathe.
It was all there. Her birth certificate, the fire, even the diary entries she’d written as a much younger girl.
Her whole life was exposed.
Well, maybe not all of it. Though it was just a matter of time before they uncovered those secrets too.
And then what?
What would become of her once the ugly truth was revealed?
Where could she possibly go once her secrets were known all over the world?