The Last Adventure of Constance Verity

by A. Lee Martinez

  “I’ll do it,” said Connie.

  “You know plumbing?”

  “Picked it up on my adventures,” said Connie, and immediately regretted it.

  “Your adventures in plumbing,” said Dana skeptically. “You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.”

  “You really don’t want to hear about it,” said Connie. “Just don’t flush a Peruvian snake god down your toilet. It’s not pretty.”

  Dana paused, processing the statement. She laughed politely like one did at a joke they didn’t quite get.

  Connie found her tools and then found herself under Dana’s sink. “Hand me that wrench.”

  Dana gave her the tool. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “It’s only a garbage disposal,” replied Connie. “I can take care of it for you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Connie gave the wrench a final twist. “There. Done.” She stood, ran the sink to double-check if there was a leak. “Everything checks out.”

  “You’re really handy,” said Dana.

  “I get by.”

  “What did you say your job was, again?”

  “Little bit of this, little bit of that,” replied Connie. “I’m between gigs right now.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll find something soon.”

  Connie had never had a regular job. She’d never had the time, and now, she didn’t need one. She had plenty of money, but a job would be a normal thing to have now. It was also a responsibility, and she’d been responsible for saving the day so often, it was nice to not have to worry about anything for the foreseeable future.

  “Are you okay?” asked Dana. “You seem distracted.”

  “Just going through some changes,” said Connie. “How’s Byron, by the way?”

  “Good. You two seemed to hit it off right away.”

  It was a statement that was vaguely a question at the same time. Was Dana testing Connie? Did she know about the whirlwind romance, the spontaneous one-night stand?

  “He asked about you the other day,” said Dana.

  “He did? What did he ask?”

  Dana shrugged. “Just if you were back from your trip.”

  Connie felt like a thirteen-year-old girl, hearing whispers on the playground about who liked whom. Or so she assumed. At thirteen, she hadn’t had much time for boys or playground gossip.

  “That’s it?” asked Connie.

  Dana didn’t smile. Her expression became disapproving. “I knew you liked him.”

  “He’s cool.” Connie tried to act nonchalant, but she was painfully aware of how chalant she sounded.

  “Can I be honest with you, Connie?”

  Connie didn’t like the sound of that.

  “I’d rather you not get involved with my brother. He’s in a rough patch right now. His fiancée broke up with him only a year ago. I don’t think he’s ready to date. Especially someone like you.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Connie didn’t want to start a fight, so she decided to not pick at it. But she was also lousy at avoiding fights, so she decided immediately to ignore the previous decision.

  “What’s the hell does that mean?”

  Again, she wondered just how much Dana knew about her. It wasn’t difficult to find things out.

  “You’re a smart, attractive, well-traveled woman. And my brother is . . . Well, I love him, but he’s not exactly a good fit for you. He needs someone . . . simpler. More stable.” Dana smiled. “You understand?”

  Connie had the urge to roundhouse-kick every condescending tooth out of Dana’s head, but that would’ve probably only proven the point.

  “I’m just looking out for him,” said Dana. “And you. You don’t want to date someone like Byron. He doesn’t mesh with your lifestyle. You’re never home. You’re always out doing God-knows-what. You aren’t a drug dealer, are you?” She held up her hands. “Never mind. None of my business.”

  “I’m not a drug dealer,” replied Connie coldly.

  “Like I said, none of my business. You seem nice, but my brother needs more than nice. He needs someone who . . . someone not like you.”

  “I see.”

  She couldn’t determine whether Dana was merely being an overprotective sister or if she had other concerns specific to Connie. Either way, Dana had a point.

  Connie hadn’t called Byron yet, like she’d promised she would. She’d meant it when she said it, but something kept her from picking up the phone.

  “I think you’re great, though,” said Dana. “Just not great for Byron.”

  “Thanks,” said Connie distantly, barely hearing herself. “I have to go. I have a thing I have to do.”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s not drugs,” said Connie.

  “Didn’t ask.” Dana flipped on the disposal. It gurgled for a few moments before sputtering to a halt. Probably just a loose wire. Wouldn’t take more than a minute or two to fix.

  She scratched her head. “Well, crap.”

  “Yeah, you should probably get the new super to look at that,” said Connie as she left, closing the door behind her.

  Connie had started taking her mother to the salon. It wasn’t Connie’s idea of a good time, but Mom seemed to like it.

  “Don’t you have something important to be doing?” Mom asked as they took another day at the spa.

  Connie leaned back in her chair as the manicurist worked on her nails. “No, Mom. It’s cool.”

  She’d never been a manicure kind of girl. Pretty nails weren’t much of an option when you were scaling mountains or grappling with shadow death ninjas. She still wasn’t a manicure kind of girl, but it was nice to have the choice.

  “After this, Mom, I thought we might go to a movie.”

  “Oh. That’d be nice.”

  “Then pick Dad up and go for a nice dinner.”

  “Oh. Yes. Dinner would be nice. I suppose.”

  Connie kept her eyes closed, but she could still picture that look on Mom’s face. Slightly concerned. Slightly discombobulated. She’d had it on her face since Connie had been seven.

  “Something wrong, Mom?”

  “No. Nothing, really, sweetie.”

  “Spit it out, Mom.”

  Mom waved her pedicurist away and sat up. “It’s just . . . well . . . you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with your father and me.”

  “Making up for lost time,” said Connie. “You took such good care of me as a kid, I just wanted to return the favor now that I can.”

  “That’s very nice, Constance,” said Mom. She paused. The bigger the pause, the bigger the but that was going to follow it. Connie had a mental ranking of all Mom’s pauses, and this one was a two on a scale of ten.

  “. . . but wouldn’t you like to spend some time with your friends as well? We don’t want to take up all your time now that you’re free to do what you want to do.”

  “This is what I want to do.”

  “I see.”

  Pause. Level six. Six point five, maybe.

  “ . . . but we know how hard it must be for you to be an ordinary person now. We wouldn’t hold it against you if you needed some alone time to help you adjust.”

  The manicurists, two Korean ladies, mumbled to each other about Connie not picking up the hint. She didn’t let them know she spoke Korean.

  “Am I bothering you, Mom?”

  Pause. Full level nine.

  “ . . . I wouldn’t say you were bothering us. It’s just, well, we love you very much. You know that.”

  “I think she’s breaking up with you,” said Thelma.

  Connie didn’t remember taking the haunted pen with her. She was convinced the ghost could materialize in her pocket at will.

  “I’ve enjoyed this time together, but your father and I do have a life outside of you. Not that it’s ever been a problem before. You’ve always been so busy.”

  “Things are different now,” said Connie.

  “And that’s wonderful
. It really is. But we think you might be better served spending some time with your friends.”

  “Oh, my God. You are breaking up with me.”

  Mom rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

  “Does Dad feel the same way?”

  “Your father loves you very much and is very, very proud of you.”

  The manicurists stifled their chuckles.

  “It’s only been two weeks, Mom, and you’re already sick of me?” asked Connie.

  “Now, I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  Connie stifled a glare. Mom wasn’t saying anything Connie hadn’t already thought.

  “I don’t have any ordinary friends except Tia. And I apparently ruined her life by fixing mine.” Connie sat up. “I don’t know if I know how to make friends, Mom.”

  “Perhaps you should call her, then.”

  “She wants space. I’m giving it to her.”

  “What about that man you were talking about the other day?”

  “Byron? I should call him.”

  She should, but she hadn’t. She thought about it three or four times a day, and every time, she chickened out. She assumed her first normal relationship was doomed. She was bound to make stupid mistakes through inexperience. She didn’t want to blow it with Byron. Absurd, since they didn’t have much of a thing to blow.

  The longer she went without calling, the harder it was to pick up the phone.

  Her mother said, “I don’t know what you’re worried about. You’re very personable.”

  “You have to say that. You’re my mom.”

  “Constance, you’ve spent the last twenty-eight years living the most extraordinary life. Just be yourself. You’re still the same wonderful person you’ve always been. I loved you before you went to the moon and back. I love you now that you’re done doing that sort of thing. And people will like you. You only have to give them the chance.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Connie didn’t believe it would be that easy, but this was what she’d wanted. She’d figure it out.

  Dinner with Mom and Dad was rescheduled, and on the drive home, Connie realized the absence of adventure in her life meant she didn’t know a lot about herself. She’d never had the free time to be her own person, never developed any hobbies or interests on her own. Mom might have suggested Connie be herself, but she wasn’t sure who that was now.

  Connie had spent decades in adventures, but this was an adventure in itself. The paradox of her life was that the extraordinary was ordinary and vice versa, and stuff regular people did wasn’t natural to her.

  On her way home, a spectral figure appeared in the doorway of an abandoned building and gestured for Connie to follow. She was tempted. One little adventure. What could it hurt? Just something to kill a few hours.

  “Nice try,” she said.

  The specter hung its hooded head and disappeared.

  Old habits died hard, but Connie was damned if she’d take the easy way now. She wasn’t going to rush headlong into adventure simply because she didn’t have any better ideas at the moment.

  She thought about calling Tia, but that was also an old habit. If Connie was going to have a life now, she needed one beyond Tia. It wasn’t fair to Tia or Mom or Dad or Byron to expect them to fill in for all the adventures.

  She had time now. The best thing for her would be to take advantage of it. She had every intention of focusing on herself, no distractions, and all of that promptly went to hell when Byron showed up in her apartment building elevator. The doors opened, and there he was. No time to hide. No time to prepare herself.

  “Oh.” She struggled to come up with something. She was fast on her feet. She’d faced bigger surprises than this.

  He stepped out of the elevator, and they exchanged a polite hug. Brief. Not too familiar. Like relative strangers, which they really were when she thought about it.

  “How have you been?” he asked.

  “Good,” she replied. “Visiting your sister?”

  He nodded. “She had some problem with the wiring on her garbage disposal.”

  “You’re an electrician?”

  “I get by.”

  The elevator doors started to close, but she stabbed the button to keep them open.

  “Byron, I meant to call,” she said.

  “You don’t have to make excuses, Connie. It was a thing. A fun thing. But we don’t have to make it more than it was.”

  She thought about getting in the elevator. She didn’t. This time, when the doors closed, she let them.

  “My life is complicated,” she said.

  “Sure, sure.”

  She wanted him to sweep her up in his arms. She wanted him to be suave and smooth, to feed her lines about how beautiful she was. It was always bullshit, but it was bullshit she was used to. She knew how to play that game. A little intrigue. A little danger. A little sex. Then a parting of the ways before heading off to another adventure.

  “Screw it,” she grumbled.

  She grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close. They kissed, and all her insecurities faded as he put his arms around her. She ran her fingers through his hair, knowing he loved that more than he hated having his hair get messy. He moved his hands down her back.

  Maybe they weren’t such strangers after all.

  24

  The next morning, Connie offered Byron breakfast before he went, but he was already running late for work.

  “This is fun,” he said, “but eventually we’re going to have to do something other than talk and have sex.”

  “Like dinner or something? Are you sure that’s okay with your sister?”

  “She’s just overprotective. Always has been. Ever since we first met.”

  “Looking out for her adopted little brother?”

  “How’d you know I was adopted?”

  “Detective,” she said.

  He buttoned his shirt and kissed her again. “How about dinner tonight, then? Someplace public. Like a real couple.”

  “Sounds great.”

  And it did. They made plans, and it still was weird to her that she could now make plans without having to worry about adventure screwing them all up, but she’d get used to it.

  On his way out the door, he paused in the hall. “Someone left an attaché case out here.”

  Harrison’s case had been sitting out there all night, and she’d been trying not to think about it. Whatever he’d left for her, it wasn’t going to change her mind.

  “Leave it,” she said.

  He blew her a kiss as he closed the door. It was corny, but corny was what she liked about him.

  She made herself French toast, looking forward to that evening. Maybe she could call Tia finally. They could talk about Byron and other non–world threatening stuff.

  She also thought about that case sitting in the hallway. Halfway through her breakfast, she opened the door and studied it like a monster lying in wait to ambush her. She returned to her French toast, had some juice, half-watched most of some game show, and then returned to stare at the case again.

  “You should open it,” said Thelma. “You know you want to.”

  Connie picked it up and chucked it down the garbage chute. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Except it wasn’t.

  She went all the way down to the basement and dug through the garbage to find the case still intact, still unopened. She returned to her apartment, took a quick shower to wash the gunk off, then sat at her kitchen table, glaring at the case.

  “Just open it,” said Thelma, sitting beside it on the table.

  Grumbling, Connie opened it. She couldn’t not open it. She’d spent decades opening things best left closed, and she couldn’t change the habit in a couple of weeks. She didn’t have the willpower.

  It was filled with a handful of manila file folders. Harrison probably expected her to read them. She found a match, lit it, and prepared to torch them. A cleansing ritual to remove the last traces of
her old life.

  She blew out the match. She shut the case and tossed it in the garbage chute again.

  “Really?” asked Thelma. “You know you’ll have to read those files eventually. You’re just putting off the inevitable.”

  “Nobody asked you.”

  Connie dialed Lucas Harrison on her phone.

  “Read the files, Verity?” he asked.

  “No. What’s in them? No, don’t tell me. I don’t care. Leave me the hell alone.”

  “You called me.”

  “Don’t get cute. None of this has anything to do with me anymore.”

  “So, what’s the harm in reading the files, then?” he said.

  She put the phone on the counter. She didn’t want to dig through the garbage again. She counted to ten before returning the phone to her ear. She wasn’t going to lose her temper.

  “I have a choice now, and I choose to not read. Respect that.”

  “I’m not making you do anything,” he replied. “I only thought you might be interested in the files.”

  “What’s your game, Harrison?”

  “No game. Just information. Look at it or don’t. Your call.”

  She hung up.

  She went down to the basement, pulled the case from the garbage, took another shower.

  “Are we going to do this all day?” asked Thelma. “Just do what we both know you were going to do from the beginning.”

  Connie read the files angrily, as if that somehow made it excusable. She called Harrison again, made arrangements to meet him.

  He picked a library across town. It wasn’t convenient, but she was beyond pretending as if she wasn’t already on this road. They found a table in the periodicals section. She slid the case across the table.

  “Explain it.”

  “You read them, then?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.”

  He opened the case, and she glimpsed the file on Dr. Ishiro Hirata, leading expert in the field of kaiju studies. He’d died four days before, keeping a monster crab from devouring Yokohama.

  She counted him as a friend. More importantly, Dr. Hirata had devoted his life to the containment of all those giant beasties waiting to destroy humanity. He’d kept the kaiju apocalypse at bay a dozen times she knew of. She’d helped him a few of those times.