Navy Pier looked so demented when no one was around. All of the small thrift stores and quaint little cafes were closed for the evening, although they all looked abandoned. Halloween in Chicago was the best time of year. The celebrations were waning, but the shouts from the drunks and transvestites were resounding. To them, Halloween was a national holiday. Amalya Royal could identify with that.
The nineteen year old college freshman had found herself walking back to her campus apartment from an acquaintance's Halloween party. Her long blond hair hung over the sides of her face, her dark green eyes staring at the cement pavement as her mind had once again traveled back to the party. She stopped, sighing heavily as her fingers tangled themselves in her long, semi-curly hair. She looked down at her costume, a knee length black dress. The skirt was jagged and lace graced the edges. The midsection, starting at her breasts, was shaped into a V and in the V were black velvet roses. The costume was called "Black Rose Vampiress." She found a bench and sat down, removing her fake fangs from her mouth, looking around. She had the strangest feeling that she was being watched. She looked down at the ground, her past taking a hold of her mind, replacing her thoughts of the party.
Amalya's life was never glamorous. Far from it. She was a bastard child. She had come to accept that at a very young age. She had been raised solely by her mother, a prostitute. Well, former prostitute. When she found out that she was pregnant with Amalya, she quit hooking and devoted her life to God for the sake of the child. After Amalya was born, she went back to school to become a hairstylist. The life the prostitute shared with Amalya wasn't much, but she made sure that her daughter had every comfort in the world.
When Amalya was ten, the prostitute was trimming her hair and was talking to her about how school was going. The two talked for a while and when the prostitute had disappeared into the kitchen to get the broom, Amalya looked down at the hair clippings, seeing the blond locks from her head on the floor. The prostitute returned and began to sweep the floor and her young daughter looked at the prostitute curiously. The prostitute had black hair; the daughter had blond. The prostitute had blue eyes; the daughter had green. Amalya began to wonder why she didn't have any of the prostitute's features. She cleared her throat and asked,
"Mom, where is my father?"
The prostitute closed her eyes and kept sweeping, not answering Amalya's question. It was then that Amalya knew that she was a bastard child. The girl was smart and could put two and two together, although she did not know about the prostitute's sordid past.
This was also the point in her life that she began to develop a dark side. On the outside, she dressed normally, just in her school uniform, jeans and a blouse on weekends, and sweats after school. She always wore her hair down and she was light, witty, carefree and best of all, she was popular. Her popularity wasn't because of her wittiness or how much money her family had; it was because she was a good secret keeper, especially in high school. Amalya had witnessed and heard about more sexual acts between students and teachers than anyone should hear in their lifetime. Although Amalya was a virgin, she saw no need for a boyfriend. School was her only concern and she liked it that way, no matter what her friends had advised her.
Amalya's dark side was well hidden from her friends and the prostitute. It began small, just some black fingernail polish and semi-dark makeup. Then she began to buy gothic stories, more specifically Anne Rice novels and books on paranormal studies and witchcraft. Although Amalya never practiced the spells, they were fun to read about. She hid the books under her bed. One of the best features that the prostitute had was that she never pried into Amalya's life, and that included snooping in her bedroom. One night, while the prostitute was out for a girl's night with some friends, Amalya snuck out and walked the numerous blocks from their house to the gothic subculture of Chicago. The people looked at her as if she were lost and was almost approached a couple of times until she went into one of shops to get away from the stares and whispers. She let out a sigh of relief, and then turned around, gasping softly in surprise. A girl from her school, who was gothic and the same age and grade as Amalya, was working behind the counter. The girl had the same shocked look on her face that Amalya had and they stared at each other, unsure of what to say. Amalya regained herself, and then moved through the shop, picking out what she wanted. It was just some candles and some more nail polish, but it was enough for her so she wouldn't be there long. The girl rang her up and bagged up the items while Amalya quickly counted out her money, not caring if she handed her too much. She took the bag and went to make a dead run to the door, but stopped, turning back to the girl. She ran her free hand through her hair, clearing her throat.
"I wasn't here, okay?"
The girl immediately understood, smiling softly and nodding. Amalya left quickly and hurried home to beat the prostitute, happy that someone understood her, even though it was someone that she barely knew.
For the prostitute, the years seemed to pass by slowly. She watched Amalya grow up into a beautiful, independent, young woman and she was very proud and lucky to have her. As Amalya's graduation began to draw closer, the prostitute began to realize that Amalya would be going off to school and she wouldn't see her as much anymore. Not only that, but the prostitute's past was beginning to catch up to her. Her former pimp had found her and wanted his money that she had supposedly owed him. She wrote him a check for half and told him to come back in a week and she would have the rest then. The night before he was to arrive, the prostitute took Amalya out to Navy Pier and they did some shopping for graduation. They talked about Amalya's options for the future, but didn't talk about the prostitute's past.
The prostitute didn't make it to Amalya's high school graduation.
It was two weeks before the ceremony. Amalya had gone back to the small gothic store to get some candles. She walked into the house and felt an eerie chill go down her spine. The house was quiet, way too quiet. Usually, when Amalya went out and the prostitute had stayed home, the television would be on or even the radio, if not both. Not only that, but it was way too early for the prostitute to be asleep. She set her bags down and walked around, calling for the prostitute. She searched the lower level first, the kitchen, the den and the living room. There was no sign of her. In the kitchen, the dishes from dinner were still soaking in the soapy water, which was now lukewarm. The computer was on, but still on the log in page. She walked up the stairs slowly, listening for any kind of sound. The television, a radio, running water, anything. There was nothing. Only silence. Once she got to the top of the stairs, Amalya noticed a strange and haunting odor as she looked towards the prostitute's bedroom door. She turned left and walked down the hall, reaching the prostitute's bedroom door, which was left open just a crack. She placed her hand on the door and gently pushed it open. There, the prostitute lay in bed, laying on her stomach, naked and wrapped in a bed sheet, her arm hanging loosely and still over the side of the bed, the window fully opened as a breeze blew in, making Amalya shiver. She walked over to the bed slowly and stared at the prostitute's face. It was pale and her eyes were open, but her pupils were fixed and dilated. Amalya felt her body go numb. She had to be sure. She placed her delicate, shaking hand on the prostitute's back. It was cold. She was dead.
It didn't take long for the police to arrive. Amalya had left the bedroom to call them and went to the living room, going through the prostitute's address book, getting ready to call people until a detective came over and sat down with her, pulling the address book gently out of her hands, setting it away from her. She looked at him, pulling her hair back. The detective had blond hair and green eyes, his age and the years written on his face, even though he was in great shape for his late 40s.
"You must be Amalya."
She gave him a soft nod.
"I shouldn't be here, but I was a good friend of you mother's. Has she told you about me?"
She shook her head, staring at him.
"Where were you tonight, Amalya?"
She got up from the couch, getting the bag from the store, showing him the contents and receipt that was inside.
"Okay. Was your mother alone when you left?"
She nodded, and then whispered, "How did she die?"
The detective looked at her, and then asked, "You found her, didn't you?"
"Yeah...yeah, I did."
"No wonder you're in shock."
"How did she die," she asked him again.
"I don't know. I'll arrange an autopsy."
She nodded. The detective looked at her, hiding a smile while he stared at his daughter. He hadn't seen her, but he knew through the brief contact that he kept with the prostitute that Amalya was his. He placed his hand on her back and felt her shudder. Immediately, he knew that she was holding back her tears.
"I was taught not to cry in front of a man, no matter how much authority he had."
"I won't say a word."
There was a moment of silence, and then Amalya let a sob, breaking down in front of the detective. He took her into his arms and held her, rubbing her back as she sobbed hysterically for the prostitute, grieving and aching to say goodbye to her.
The first autopsy report stated that the prostitute's death was a suicide, caused by an overdose of sleeping pills. Amalya showed the detective their medicine cabinet and there were no sleeping pills and the prostitute didn't have a prescription for them. The final autopsy report stated suspicious death caused by unknown elements. The funeral was small, just close friends and family. Amalya met her grandparents, her aunts, her uncles, her cousins, but the only person she wanted to be close to was the detective, who held her throughout the funeral while she cried.
The detective never told Amalya that he was her father, but they remained close acquaintances through emails and phone calls.
The past cleared away in her mind as Amalya noticed that all was quiet. She looked around and she was alone. She thought about John Constantine, the whole reason why she went to the Halloween party in the first place.
On graduation day, Amalya had received her acceptance letter into the University of Illinois Chicago, along with a full scholarship. It was the best news that she had gotten in a long time. While she was packing up and getting ready for school, she thought about all of the books that she had bought over the years since she was twelve years old. She thought about the smell she had smelled the night she found her mother dead. Then she decided what her career should be. She wanted to go to school to become a paranormal investigator. When she arrived at school, she made friends immediately with her roommates and the people in her classes, more specifically, the members of the sorority and fraternity houses. One of these friends was John Constantine.
John Constantine was what Amalya considered to be the All-American boy. He had brown hair, blue eyes; he was tall and was the heir of a very respectable business. Amalya would never admit it to anyone, but when she saw John for the first time, she not only developed feelings for him, but she also saw dollar signs.
At the Halloween party, which was incredibly crowded anyway, John met Amalya outside, wearing black slacks, a black sweater, red contacts and a white lab coat. He had called himself just a plain scientist with sexy red eyes. Once they finally got inside and pushed through the sea of people, John fixed Amalya a drink, which she quickly switched out for water while he wasn't looking. They hung out together for a while, and then Amalya decided to make a tackle for the bathroom. While walking upstairs, she saw someone in a dark corner, engulfed in the shadows. At first, she thought it was John who had used the other staircase and was trying to scare her. However, as she made her way closer to the bathroom, she realized that it wasn't him and immediately, the familiar eerie chill went down her spine and different smell entered her nose. The sweet and attracting smell of...blood. But this blood wasn't any normal person's blood. She didn't know what kind of blood this was, but God, it lingered in her nose and in her mind. What was happening to her? She shook off this brief trance and stopped, knocking on the bathroom door, but a voice replied with a muffled sound. She stepped back from the door and her eyes fell upon the stranger again, who now was staring at her, his eyes red and glowing. In the shadows, she could see his black hair was messy and his face was smooth. She blinked dumbly, as if she had forgotten how to talk. She shook her head slightly, then said,
"Hello."
The man looked at her, but didn't reply. Amalya took the hint, and then headed back to the party downstairs. She looked at the floor as she held onto the banister tightly, feeling dizzy. She looked up, seeing John in the distance. However, John wasn't alone. In fact, he was far from it. He was making out with one of the new sorority pledges. Amalya sneered slightly, wishing she could remember one of the curses from her book about witchcraft. She ran the rest of the way down the stairs, her footfalls silent as the loud music drowned them out. She ran out of the house and ran until she got to Navy Pier, panting softly.
The thoughts ceased as she let out a heavy sigh. She knew she wasn't for him so why did she chase after him? She ran her fingers through her hair again, and then she checked her watch. It was midnight. The witching hour. Oh, it was time for her to get her ass back to her apartment. She got up from the bench and began to walk quickly, trying to think of the quickest way back to the campus apartments. She remembered an alley that her and friends took one day and it didn't take them long to get back to the apartments. She found the alley and ran into it. It was very dark and she couldn't see very well so she placed her hand on the wall and used it as a guide as she walked slowly. The eerie chill returned again and she felt as if she was being followed, but it was so dark that she couldn't see, even when she stopped and turned around in a circle to make sure that there was no one there. She shivered lightly as the temperature began to drop and she kept walking slowly. She suddenly remembered what she read in the paranormal investigator's guide books that she had bought and she remembered the question that all paranormal investigators ask. She stopped and cleared her throat, then asked,
"Is there anyone here? If you are were, please make a small sound and I will leave you alone."
There was silence, a low and sensual growl coming from behind her. She immediately froze, her heart beating at rapid pace as she panted softly, turning around. Her eyes fell upon a dark figure, wearing a white lab coat and had deep red eyes. She suddenly felt relief, even though she couldn't see who was in front of her. She looked closely, then whispered,
"John?"
The figure came to her and wrapped his arms around her small frame tightly, growling lightly. She gasped and placed her hands on his chest as he lifted her, pressing her against the brick wall of the alley. To cover the gasps, the figure kissed her lips hungrily and although she blinked a couple times, unsure of what was happening, then she closed her eyes and released a low moan and he smirked against her lips and his finger moved along her neck, continuing to kiss her. The next thing that Amalya was aware of, she was lying in bed with this figure between her legs, his hips pressing into hers as she moaned again. She still couldn't see very well. She knew she was on a bed and whoever was on top of her knew what he was doing. She was lost and she didn't care. He grinned down at her through the shadows and began to place small and teasing kisses on her neck as he growled again, getting her wound up. He could smell her, her perfume insanely fervent. She was ready for him and he would oblige her.
Sure he would.
He tore off her pantyhose and underwear in one swift movement and she gasped and immediately clamped her legs shut. No man had ever seen her like that before and she began to grow hot as a blush formed on her cheeks. He growled again and pulled her legs apart, pressing his hips against hers again, more or less, so she could feel how stiff he was. She moaned again and he moved his head to her neck and kissed it again. His lips stayed there, and then he pulled back. He roared, plunging into the soft skin of her neck and pierced her skin and she gasped, trying not to scream in pain. She couldn't believe how aggressive he was being. She listened as she quieted down, and then heard slurping and low growls, starting to feel light headed.
Oh, God...this wasn't John. This wasn't a dream. This was all real.
This was a vampire.
Immediately, her hands moved to his chest weakly and began to push at him, although she could feel her life slipping away. She kept pushing and the vampire, out of frustration, growled angrily and grabbed her wrists, pinning her to the bed. She whimpered and blinked her heart rate slowing as she continued to fight. She couldn't hold on anymore.
No...
Her body finally went limp. She had stopped fighting. She was still. No breath. No pulse. The vampire finally let out a purr of satisfaction and finished her off.
Her eyes remained open.
---------------------------------
One day. Maybe two at the most. What had happened? That last thing she remembered, she was at Navy Pier taking a shortcut home. She blinked a few times then sat up, her stomach bubbling with a hunger that she had never felt before. She was in her costume still. What the fuck happened the other night? She looked around, and then in the corner of the room was John, still dressed in his costume and sleeping. She groaned softly, the hunger growing worse as her top teeth began to throb. She opened her mouth, feeling sharp pointed tips with her tongue.
Holy shit...she was a vampire. The strange dream that she had was now a reality. The worst part of it was that she was staring at John's sleeping form like he was a piece of meat. She didn't think twice. Before she realized it, she was in John's lap and holding his neck, sinking her fangs into his jugular vein. She moaned hungrily, his blood tasting so good, although she tasted something in his blood. It must have been a drug that he had taken to make him that sleepy. She didn't care though. She kept drinking until she had her fill falling back onto the floor, panting softly. She was full, and overall satisfied. She licked her lips, and then sat up slowly, staring at John, who she had killed. Now what? She couldn't leave a body here. His family would be devastated. She bit her lip, unsure of what do to do. She sighed, and then found a window, happy that it was dark outside. She pushed the body out of the window and heard it land with a thud, crying softly, her hands tangled in her hair. God, what was she going to do? She didn't know to live like this. She looked at the bed, thinking about curling up and staying there for as long as she could stand it. She blinked, and then stood, walking over to the bed. There, on the pillow, was a white rose. She picked up and immediately she knew it was from her sire. She smelled the rose, and then quietly prayed that she would see him again.