In Glamour Ghost by Mindy Ross, I tried to capture what really happened the night Marilyn Monroe died. According to marilynmonroemurdered.com, she did not commit suicide, nor did the Kennedys snuff her out. Evidence suggests that Sam Giancana's boys killed her because Bobby and Jack didn't return favors after Giancana helped them getted elected.

Here is the my prologue:

August 5, 1962, was one of many hot summer nights in Hollywood. The temperature had risen well above seventy-five degrees, causing many doors and windows on Helena Drive to be left open. Three men, dressed all in black, arrived at the wrought-iron gate and slipped through easily. After parking a few yards away from the Spanish Colonial Revival House, two of them grabbed flashlights and made their way to the front door. Marilyn's housekeeper, Eunice, let them in. She had to--the jagged edge of a hunting knife against her throat convinced her that if she fought them she'd die a slow, agonizing death.

One of the men decided to keep Eunice "company" in the living room. "Don't let her out of your sight." the other man said. His voice was gruff and gravelly and intoned with a heavy threat.

In the master bedroom, Marilyn was sleeping on her stomach, completely unaware of what had gone on in the next room. She was nude and had her right leg entwined in a soft, percale top sheet. "Such a shame to die so young and yet it has to be done." Before the man touched her, he stood beside the double bed for a moment, staring at the movie star, totally beguiled by her stunning beauty. The effect of her full lips and long lashes wasn't dampened at all by the glow of moonlight spilling in from the casement window. In another life, he would have worshipped her.

But that was not his purpose tonight. He had to remind himself that he was there on a mission for his boss and if he didn't fulfill it, he too would lose his life...

"Wake up, darling."

His gruff voice caused Marilyn to stir and groan, but then she fell back to sleep. He tried again and again to wake her up. To attack her without warning would be the cruelest of deeds; even he couldn't bring himself to do it. Finally, he tried a low whistle and shook her. She opened her large eyes and looked at him confused.

When she didn't recognize him, she flipped over and tried to run. The man held her down with one grimy paw, aware that his penis was hardening as his fingers pressed her large, quivering breasts. "What I wouldn't give to make those breasts mine and mine alone. This platinum broad wouldn't do any naked posing for cameras if she were my woman." The terror in her eyes told him he had to get this over with quickly. There was no point in making an innocent woman suffer. He had no grudge against her. When she didn't comply with his demands, he took hold of her fragile body and flipped her onto her stomach. It was as easy as turning a pancake.

"Wow, this one is a fighter!"

His flashlight fell to the floor with a thump as he struggled to keep her from squirming right off the edge of the bed.

He finally subdued her, part way at least, by shoving his thick knee into the small of her back, pinning her to the mattress. "Now you shut up! There's no point in fighting me."

Her body went limp and she sobbed into her pillow as he tried to hold her down and dig into his pockets at the same time. Damn it! He should have brought the driver with him. As if on cue, the driver suddenly darkened the doorway. With two of them in the room, the procedure could now get underway. Marilyn's head shot up, but the driver shoved it back into the pillow.

"Sit on her," the first man ordered, and then he dug deeper into his jacket pocket and pulled out a long white package. He tore off the wrapper and stuffed it deep into his back pocket so he wouldn't leave it behind.

Taking a deep breath, he parted Marilyn's buttocks, and shoved the suppository inside. Her muffled cries shook him to his core.

"I don't want to do this, princess, not at all. He had just given her the equivalent of seventy Nembutol tablets, enough to kill a dinosaur. And as she fought and struggled to get loose, he knew she had only a minute or so left before the medicine would take effect. He truly hated this part of the process. He experienced no joy in watching a victim's last, panic-filled moments.

"It will be over soon, my sweet. Tomorrow you'll get the biggest headline you've ever had."

As the driver continued to press on her narrow back, the struggle became less and less.

"That's right, honey. Go toward that big silver screen in the sky.

"I'll read the news in The Los Angeles Times--Marilyn Monroe is found dead!"

Suddenly, Marilyn got a second wind. She tossed her head back and almost fell out of bed. "Keep a hold on her, you moron! It has to look like she did it herself. No bruises!" The death seemed to take forever although Sam had promised him it would be over in a minute. The driver was losing his grip so the first man helped hold her down. She only weighed a hundred and fifteen pounds or so. She was a tiny thing. He never would have guessed by watching one of her movies. She had seemed much taller and much more imposing.

Now she was fighting with fervor. She clawed at the pillow and stiffened her body against the grip of their large hands. "She isn't going down without a fight--that's for sure." The first man expressed his gratitude. Without the bungalow's thick walls and the seclusion of the cul-de-sac, some of the neighbors might have heard her screams...

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