For the first time in a long time, Madison Brooks was having fun.
Maybe not fun in the usual pampered, VIP sort of way with all the highly coveted freebies and perks regularly showered on a star of her caliber. But she was out on her own, free to move about as she pleased. After weeks under lock and key, that alone meant everything.
She was also taking the first meaningful step toward revenge. The thought was enough to coax that world-famous grin to her face.
Though she still felt guilty about Blue, Madison knew her beloved mutt would be well looked after. Despite whatever suspicions she might have about Paul, he had a code he’d never deviate from. Paul would kill a human without a second thought, but when it came to animals, he would do no harm. He considered them sacred, and far superior to most people he knew. Madison tended to agree.
She cruised up Hollywood Boulevard and headed toward Sunset. The day was bright and sunny, another scorcher in the making, and it seemed like everywhere she looked she caught a glimpse of her face.
The billboards for her movie were still up. According to Paul, it was the biggest hit of the summer. There was even talk of an Oscar nom for best actress, which meant she’d probably be up for a Golden Globe too.
Of course, she was featured on Trena Moretti’s In-Depth billboards as well. Only on those, Trena’s picture was bigger, leaving no doubt that she was the star of her show.
So much had changed since Madison had been taken. While the frenzied news coverage she’d received didn’t surprise her, it was odd to witness firsthand the sort of cottage industry that had grown in the wake of her disappearance.
She passed a handful of souvenir shops hawking T-shirts that featured her image. The ones that said Missing seemed sweet. The ones that said In Memoriam gave her the creeps.
There were Madison masks, Madison key chains, Madison prayer candles. It was like she was haunting the city, serving as a grim reminder of how a person could be blessed with every conceivable gift—beauty, talent, riches, and stardom—and yet, they could still end up as tragically as any junkie on the street.
For those who had little, her disappearance provided a sense of justice, proving they weren’t the only ones vulnerable to the whims of the universe.
For those who had much, it filled their hearts with terror. If it could happen to Madison Brooks, then no one was safe.
There was no shortage of people looking to make a buck off her story, and she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once she stepped out of the shadows and reclaimed her place in the spotlight.
Most likely, it wouldn’t make much difference. The leftover merchandise would be sold at a discount while they waited for the next scandal to occur. It was Hollywood, after all. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of celebrity meltdowns.
She drove past the Vesper and Jewel without so much as a glance. But as she approached Night for Night, against her better judgment she eased the Jeep into a nearby parking spot and gazed at the sprawling memorial set up near the entrance.
A sizable crowd gathered around a jumble of stuffed animals, flowers, and crosses nestled alongside several poster-size pictures of her. Tourists. She frowned with derision, a little miffed to find not a single peer among them. They might’ve spared a few minutes the first week, maybe even shared a charming story about the time they’d run into her at Soho House. But as soon as the cameras moved on, they’d return to their regularly scheduled life of detoxing, Botoxing, and fighting their way to the top.
But these people, with their thick-soled sneakers and sunburned shoulders—they were the true fans. The ones who read every interview, who dedicated entire weekends to binge-watching her films and buying every product she was ever paid to endorse, never seeming to notice that she rarely used those products herself. Hell, she didn’t even wear the perfume that featured her name on the label. She preferred a more exclusive brand.
They even bought into her overhyped romance with Ryan. When he’d given her the gold-and-turquoise hoop earrings, you would’ve thought he’d surprised her with the Hope diamond the way they went on about it.
They believed wholly in the gospel of Instagram, Snapchat, and People magazine. PR teams all over the city relied on their continued gullibility.
Madison had burst onto the scene with the necessary good looks and talent to succeed. But it was these very people who’d projected their dreams onto her who had propelled her to the top of the heap.
She watched as a frizzy-haired girl in a garish sundress broke into such a dramatic display of tears, several people nearby moved in to console her.
The girl had probably bought all Madison’s posters—memorized all her movies by heart. If anyone were to recognize her, it would be that girl.
Madison popped open the door and slid from the seat. It was only the second time she’d ventured out in public. The first time, at the gas station, the girl working the register was so busy judging Madison’s skimpy outfit she’d barely bothered to look at her face.
But this time was different. This was the test that would determine how she’d move forward from here. These people had devoted countless hours of their lives to watching her, reading about her, studying her, discussing her, dissecting her every Instagram post as though each pic held the key to her soul. If the disguise failed, it could prove catastrophic. And yet, she had no real choice but to see it through.
She smoothed a hand over her long blond wig, readjusted her sunglasses, and limped toward the memorial.
The first thing that struck her was how many were crying. It felt weird, like she was crashing her own funeral.
She moved toward the frizzy-haired girl and shot her a tentative smile, even made a point to pat her lightly on the shoulder. The girl would totally freak if she knew Madison Brooks had just tried to console her. As it was, she thrust a crumpled tissue to her face and blew her nose so loudly Madison cringed and slipped away.
It seemed every square inch was crammed with stacks of cards and letters—countless declarations of devotion, admiration, and love. These people adored her. They longed for her safe return. Madison was eager to grant them their wish, but there were things she had to do first.
Wanting to leave them with a symbol of hope, she reached into her bag and retrieved the single hoop earring from Ryan that had managed to survive. She’d just placed it beside a stuffed teddy bear with angel wings, when two girls came to stand beside her, and one of them said, “Oh, look at all the pretty flowers!” She angled her cell and started filming.
Her friend snickered and shook her head. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Shhh . . . video in progress!” And then in a mock-serious tone: “We’re on Hollywood Boulevard outside Night for Night, where MaryDella Slocum was last seen.” The girl couldn’t even finish the sentence without breaking into hysterical laughter, prompting her friend to take over.
“And we sincerely hope she turns up dead, because that’s what she deserves for lying to us all these years! RIP, bitch!”
Madison froze. She felt like she was about to be sick.
She looked to her fan in the hideous sundress. Surely she’d jump in to defend her. But she didn’t. Nobody did. And that was when Madison realized they weren’t there to memorialize her. They were there to condemn her and all the lies she’d told through the years.
“I can’t believe what a phony she turned out to be,” someone said.
Another chimed in, “Well, she may be a fake, but I still like her movies.”
“I’m not surprised,” said a girl in an off-the-shoulder T-shirt. “Everything about her seemed bogus. I heard she gets tons of Botox, and those aren’t even her real eyes—they’re contacts.”
Botox? Madison shook her head. She was eighteen, what the hell did she need with Botox?
This had been a mistake. If someone recognized her now, it wouldn’t end well. She ran a serious risk of being attacked by the mob, and from what she could see, there wasn’t a single person willing to jump in and help.
She stood on shaky legs, determined to make a quick getaway, when someone shoved into her so hard, it nearly sent her crashing into a huge poster of herself. Under any other circumstances, the scene would be comical. As it was, Madison was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.
“You okay?” a girl asked.
Tentatively, Madison nodded. She wasn’t used to feeling so vulnerable, and she hated every moment of it.
“Tragic, isn’t it?”
Madison turned. The girl was probably around her age and had long brown hair, styled in long, beachy waves. Same way Madison often wore hers.
“All that time I spent admiring her.” The girl scowled. “I can never get that time back.”
Madison was incensed. She’d made the movies they loved, promoted the products they clamored for. She’d allowed glimpses into a lifestyle they all dreamed of living. What more did she actually owe them?
“Really?” Madison spat. “That’s your idea of tragic? Maybe you should try stepping away from your Instagram feed long enough to read a newspaper so you can see what real tragedy looks like.”
The second it was out, she was overcome with regret. But it was too late to walk it back.
Enraged, the girl spun on her and unleashed a tirade of hate that left Madison with no choice but to get the hell out of there as fast as her ankle allowed.
She limped toward the Jeep and had just swung open the door when a hand caught hold of her. The fingers pinched at the spot where the tracker had been ripped from her arm.
The moment sent her mind reeling back to the two previous times, at Night for Night and in Joshua Tree, when some unknown attacker had come out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind.
She whipped her body around. It was broad daylight, on a crowded street. She would not go down easily.
A scream rose up her throat, only to die on her tongue when she locked eyes with a guy holding a T-shirt bearing her image.
“Fifteen dollar,” he said.
Madison stared in astonishment and fought hard not to laugh. It was one of the more surreal moments of what had become a very strange life.
Above her picture was the word Wanted. Below, it read: MaryDella Slocum, goes by the alias Madison Brooks. If seen, contact LAPD Trena Moretti.
Unfreakingbelievable. The world had known for two days, and a T-shirt had already entered the marketplace. It was capitalism at its best.
“I’ll give you six.” She reached for her wallet.
“Ten,” he shot back, looking offended.
“Seven,” she said. “Best and final.”
After a moment of false deliberation he agreed, and Madison climbed into the Jeep and drove away from the scene. Her crumpled image on the seat beside her, she went in search of Tommy Phillips.