Chapter 6 - Expect the Unexpected

The meeting was a resounding success. Although Levy had no idea what exactly occurred in Jackson Lauder’s office, both Tildy and Lauder’s smiles as they exited together was enough for him to understand that it had been nothing short of amazing. He wasn’t surprised. After all, she’d only exceeded his own expectations thus far. Sax, although happy, didn’t seem to think that they were out of the woods yet. His friend had stressed every step of their project, so Levy couldn’t blame him for being apprehensive now. Though he was beginning to suspect the time frame and lack of planning was what really worried Sax. 

When he spoke to him at his apartment afterward, Sax only added to Levy’s assumptions. 

“They jus’ don’t understand what they’ve got on their hands. I don’t even think we understand, and we’re the ones who made her in the first place.” Sax said, staring down at his shoes. 

Levy sighed, huffing through his nose. “There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” 

Sax just shook his head. “That’s not how this stuff is s’posed to go. There are procedures for a reason. Sara was… I mean, in total, years of work.” 

“And that’s why Tildy was easier. You should be patting yourself on the back, Sax.” 

“But they’re different. I’m worried, that’s all. About the two of them, and however many of ‘em there will be ten years from now.” 

Ten years from now… Before, Levy couldn’t bring himself to think a year ahead, because every time, the vision was the same. Sax would be richer, and Levy could only hope to have earned a fraction of that. His body count would be higher, in both senses. His apartment would be the same as always. Empty. That was his future.

Now, though, he could see entirely new possibilities. A house on the hills. Dinner with Tildy, looking at the city lights from afar. Meeting with Sax on weekends. Maybe even a baby girl, not their own, but from somewhere. It was a future he desired more than just having money.

“Ten years from now, the two of us will be living large, and so will they. Don’t freak out about it.” 

“We’ll see.” Sax shrugged and turned away from Levy, effectively ending their conversation. 

Just from that simple conversation, a new future filled Levy’s mind. He could map it all out in his head. Tildy kissing him on the cheek was just the beginning. 

Levy expected things to go… well, how he expected them to. Matilda had made the first move and he’d make the next, and before they knew it, they would be together. Really together. 

So, when she hopped off of his motorcycle and delicately removed her helmet— which he’d forced her to wear— he thought their first moment alone post-cheek-kiss would go differently. Maybe she’d be less bold now that the high was wearing off. Or, it could embolden her further, and she’d smile at Levy coyly, knowing she had him hooked. 

Instead, she regarded him with something he not only hadn’t expected, but didn’t even  know how to interpret. He tilted his head at her, and she tilted her head back, her expression morphing into confusion. “What? Is something the matter?” she asked, running a hand through her hair, helmet resting on her hip. 

“I was just looking at you, that’s all.” 

“Alright, then.” She turned her back to him, before pausing and facing him again. “Ah, here,” she said, dumping her helmet on him and walking towards the apartment. 

Levy stood, both helmets in hand, staring at her as she walked away from him. An awful sinking feeling worked its way down his heart and into a pit inside his stomach. He swallowed and pushed it away, tucking both helmets inside the seat and stalking after her.

Tildy plopped down on the couch, looking entirely comfortable even in her rather fancy dress, the blood-red fabric draping across her legs artfully. “What now? Do we wait for a call? God, this is just like when I was auditioning…” she sighed and rested her head on her hand. 

“They’ll probably call Sax.” Levy sat down next to her, and she moved her legs to give him more room. Didn’t he tell you the plan while you were in there?

“Why not me?” She asked, frowning. 

Levy raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a phone?” 

She paused, righting herself as though embarrassed. “No, I don’t.” 

“Then, they won’t be calling you.” 

“You don’t have a phone, then? As in… installed here?” She asked rather mournfully. It was strangely adorable, and Levy couldn’t help but smile as he shook his head. 

“They’re not installed anywhere. You just keep them in your pocket. Well, if you don’t have one programmed into your watch, or glasses, or…” 

She leaned back further on the couch, running her hand down her face. “Oh god, I’m never going to remember it all. I couldn’t name half the things he had in that office.” 

Levy laughed. “You’re doing fine. It’s only been a couple of days.” 

Tildy took her hands off her face and stared at him, her head resting against the arm of the sofa. “It feels longer.” 

“Does it?” To Levy, everything had been a complete whirlwind. It felt as though Tildy had only been here an hour. Ten more years. Twenty years. Maybe fifty, if I’m lucky. They had all the time in the world to spend together. I need to be more patient. 

She nodded. “It’s as if I’ve gone on vacation somewhere fantastical— with pocket phones— but I’ve been here long enough to start missing my bed and…” She frowned, and shook her head. “Haven’t you ever been on a trip for too long, and you start missing your apartment?” 

“I’ve never been on vacation.” He said simply, stretching out more on the couch. 

Tildy gasped. “Never? You live in the city, Levy— they have flying cars, for goodness sakes. You could go wherever you wished. You could take your motorcycle and drive the entire coast, if you wanted.” 

“It’s not that simple. The regions… Well, you can’t just go in and out, even with identification— which I don’t have— but even if I did, there wouldn’t be any point in it. There’s nothing in any other city that I can’t get here. Just different weather, I suppose.” 

This seemed to upset her, because she fell silent for long enough that Levy began to feel uncomfortable. “But… What about other countries?” 

He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be all that different. People travel, I’m sure, but not people like me.” Levy had known she wouldn’t understand. He wanted it to be that way, for her to be privileged beyond belief. Someday, he would be someone who traveled. Someone like her.

“People like Lauder,” she said, quietly. “Well, when I’m famous again, we’ll go on vacation. Maybe even a world tour, while we’re at it.” 

“It’ll happen soon enough.” 

“I hope so. I think… if I have a lot of money, I’ll start to feel more at home.” 

Levy rested his hand on his chin and studied her expression. She seemed to be subdued, again— entirely different than the confidence she’d displayed at the meeting. “I feel the same way, and I’ve never had money.” 

Her expression shifted as she stared down at him, eyebrows knitting themselves together. Her mouth twitched, like she was about to say something, but then she simply shook her head. “I’ve never really had my own money. It was all my parents, and then whatever I made myself, I would spend like that,” she said, snapping her fingers for emphasis. “But it didn’t matter, anyway because… well, I’d always thought I’d marry into money. Then I could do whatever I fancied. Acting, if I wanted— but probably just painting. That was supposed to be my life.” 

“What happened?” Levy asked, sitting up more. He met her eyes with fervor, curiosity burning away the cold, dreary quality of his eyes. “You never told me why you chose to be frozen.” She was silent, but she met his gaze with her own intensity, daring him to push the topic further, but scared to reveal the answers. “It was risky, wasn’t it? I mean… I don’t think a single other person survived cryosleep.” 

“It wasn’t a choice.” She said, her tone a stiff concrete wall. 

Levy paused. Her eyes were still full of boldness, head slightly tilted back, as if questioning whether he had the audacity to ask. “Then, what?” 

She pursed her lips, and shook her head. You’re not ready. 

Levy hadn’t been either, when she’d pressured him to talk about the blood on his hands. Well, tough luck. He leaned back, resting his arms behind his head and kicking his feet up. “It’s alright. I just thought when you said we should be honest with each other, that included you. But I won’t push it.” 

Tildy did not seem particularly amused with his antics. Nor did it seem as though she bought them even for a second. “Yes, I’m a hypocrite.” She rolled her eyes at him, and brought her knees up to her chest— as if resigning herself to sitting on the couch for quite a while. “Are there any other comments you’d like to make, Levy? Or are you going to let me tell the story?” 

He grinned, wolfishly, and although she frowned at him, Levy could see the hint of a smile in her squinted eyes. “Go on.” 

“If you really must know, I was trying to avoid the law.” Immediately, he raised an eyebrow. “But it certainly wasn’t my first choice. I— well, there was just no other option.” 

“Mommy and Daddy couldn’t buy you out of it?” Just tell me you did it, he thought desperately. 

Tildy glared. “Don’t speak ill of the dead. Not only is it rude, but it’s also terrible luck.” 

He held his hands up in submission. “I’m sorry. Please, continue.” 

“No more comments, if you’d be so kind.” He nodded, and she crossed her arms. “Anyway, even if they could, they didn’t want to. You can imagine they weren’t particularly happy with me.” 

Levy’s position had shifted on the couch, now more attentive, leaning in closer to her as she talked. He caught every word as it left her tongue, gaze trained on her lips, occasionally flicking back up to her eyes. 

“Oh, what the hell. Everything is so enormously fucked now anyways.” She said the word with so much emphasis that it shocked Levy out of his lustful gaze. Although swear words were a large part of his vocabulary and nearly everyone else's, Tildy said it with such a large amount of scandal that it sounded infinitely more profane. It was addicting. He wanted to hear her swear again, in his ear, while she— “I killed my sister.” 

He looked up, his eyebrows raised in genuine shock. His own brief distraction had saved him from having to act as if he had no idea she had killed anyone before. “You—” 

“Killed my sister. My twin sister, Vivian.” Tildy said it with passionate anger, but was still curling into herself as if something about it scared her. “She was a piece of work, Levy. You have no idea— truly, no idea. She made me…” 

Levy leaned in even further, inching closer to her on the couch. He was completely enthralled, spellbound by the bitterness that was seeping out of her. 

“Murderous, I suppose. She drove me to it. I wasn’t… I didn’t have a choice in that, either. My life, the life I should’ve had, it didn’t exist with her around. She would have ruined it for me, always.” 

“How?” He whispered, his leg nearly bumping against her feet. 

Tildy paused, tilting her head at him. She seemed to have gotten caught up in her own resentful reminiscence, and hadn’t been paying much attention to his reaction. “How? She… Well, she ruined my reputation on multiple occasions. Every scandal of mine, the source was always her— it couldn’t have been anyone else. She hated me, since we were tiny children. Because I was different, Levy.” 

“Because you were inconvenienced?” He suggested, fighting the smile off his face. 

She frowned. “Don’t make a mockery of it. But yes, because I fell over at random, and couldn’t walk in a straight line. I had trouble reading, too, and she made fun of me for that. Even as children, it was ruthless. We fought physically, when we were small.” 

“As all kids do.”

“But then, we stopped being children. And we still fought. I have scars. She threw a vase at me, once. Nearly cracked my skull open.” Tildy reached up, as if she could feel the point where it had connected.

Only it never happened. He wasn’t even sure she did have scars. They may have just been emotional ones, inflicted by her programming onto her own psyche. It was wildly interesting. 

“It was mutual. She would have done the same to me, someday.” Tildy stopped for a moment. The furrow of her brows softened and she stopped making eye contact with Levy, losing herself in thought. Is that true? Would she really have done it to you? Or did you just want to kill her, deep down? he wondered. “It was me, or her, and I chose myself,” she said finally. 

Levy reached out and grabbed her hand, which was draped over one of her legs, and gently rubbed his thumb over the top of it. “I’ve killed for much less. What you did… it doesn’t matter, not anymore. She’s gone.” 

Her dark eyes were shinier, although not with mirth— they were wet, as though she was about to cry. Not mourning. Not regret. Anger, maybe? Resentment? “I know,” she whispered back, not removing her hand, but not gripping it back either. I’ll make the moves. She could respond at her own pace. Tildy blinked and cleared her throat, looking away from him once more. “Will we have another job tonight, Levy?” 

Oh you’re… Glorious? Perfect? Evil? She was something, that was for sure. Something he couldn’t resist, even if he wanted to. His slight surprise shifted to delight, a smirk spreading across his face. “We’ll see. I have a big meeting soon, though. You could meet some of my coworkers.” 

“Your subordinates? Or do you have more bosses?” 

Levy shook his head. “No, not my subordinates. Just other…” 

“Killers. Truly, Levy, we’re far past dancing around that word.” 

“I suppose we are. Well, welcome to the club. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to meet you.” 

Tildy smiled and shook her head. “Everyone always is.” 

It wasn’t the long-winded romantic conversation Levy had been envisioning, but it was somehow more intimate than he could’ve imagined. A confession. Not of love, but of murder. He found it strikingly attractive that she could tearfully admit she’d killed her own sister, and then ask Levy when they would be playing grim reaper next, all in the span of a minute. 

And then, just two days after she’d confessed her sins, Levy was preparing a murderer to be on live television. 

Although, to say that he was preparing her was a stark lie. Not that he had any issue with those, clearly. Still, Levy hadn’t done much in the actual process. He’d driven Tildy to the studio, and stood guard next to her as she spoke with a dozen people before she could actually get into hair and makeup. He was masquerading as her agent— although to those around them, who had no idea where she came from, Tildy would explain he’d found her cryosleep chamber. His name and face would remain anonymous, for now. Once she gathered attention, wherever they went together, people would be looking towards him too. Levy might even need to assume another identity, eventually. 

He wasn’t particularly concerned about keeping himself a secret. After all, Bibi was still being prosecuted by the Global Commerce Committee, and she was perfectly fine. Levy’s agency would protect him. Especially if he and Tildy one day became clients rather than employees. 

Looking at her now, Levy was incredibly hopeful for that future. The mirror in front of her was trimmed with bright lights that illuminated every inch of her face, but there wasn’t a single imperfection that needed makeup in the first place. That’s what he thought, at least. 

The makeup artist and Tildy disagreed. With him, and with each other. The studio was bustling with people, but their bickering could still be heard over the crowd. The smell of hairspray, products he couldn’t even name, and the vapor clouds that many people were blowing inside made Levy feel nauseous. Tildy hadn’t been pleased either, and had requested a fan be placed directly next to her to blow away the smell. It was awfully bright, and Levy found himself blinking back the spots behind his eyelid. He wasn’t sure how none of the people in chairs were bothered by the lights shining directly into their faces. 

Some of the other guests were looking at them as they were prepared, and Levy shot piercing glares in their direction if they ever raised a questioning brow at Tildy— even at the news anchor he watched read the crime reports every night. 

“Do you want it to be accurate or not? All of this shine is completely wrong. I’ve never worn makeup like this a day in my life.” 

“I’m trying to make sure you look good in the studio lights,” the man replied, pulling back from Tildy with the brush, looking as if he was considering hitting her with it. 

Tildy turned in her red velvet chair to look imploringly at Levy. “Why don’t you go help someone else. She can do her own makeup,” Levy said. 

The man huffed, pulled his cropped fur coat around himself, and stalked off. “Well I’d never. First of all, a single man…? In my day, I had a whole team of women helping me.” She turned back, leaning into the mirror to admire herself. “He wasn’t terrible, I suppose. But Sara was better. Not at doing makeup, but she’s knowledgeable at least. She would never have made my lips glossy like this.” Tildy smacked her lips, and then looked back up at Levy again. 

His throat went dry. All he could do was swallow and nod. She looked positively stunning, even with massive rollers in her hair. 

Tildy smirked, and then went back to looking at herself in the mirror. “Anyway, I’m happy to do my own. It’s just like painting, only I’m the canvas. Although I have to say, it’s a lot easier to make myself look beautiful than a blank stretch of cloth.” She wiped the gloss off her lips and then began inspecting the array of products laid out in front of her. 

“Well, you don’t even have to put any makeup on at all. I’d say that’s easy.” 

She rolled her eyes at him through the mirror before going back to selecting a shade of lipstick. “I always look good,” she began, popping open a cap with one hand. “But, I could look even better.” She finished, beginning to apply the dark red to her lips. “God, makeup really hasn’t changed much. This feels quite nice, though…” 

Levy loomed over the back of her chair, watching as she delicately added a second coat. “How does it taste?” 

“Do you want to find out?” she replied, looking up at him through the mirror. 

Levy grinned, and she smiled back at him with her back still turned. “Who wouldn’t?” 

Tildy, without even turning to look at him, held up the lipstick for him to take. “Here, why don’t you take a bite?” 

He frowned and took it from her as she devolved into a fit of giggles. 

“Oh, your face…” 

Levy leaned over her, and felt her stiffen then relax in a single moment as he placed the lipstick back on the counter. “Focus on your own face for now. You’re on in… what, an hour and a half?” 

“Just about.” She grinned. “I love doing interviews, Levy. You have no idea, truly.” 

Levy had some idea. He’d decided for her to love them in the first place. 

Though, he still couldn’t prepare himself for how much she seemed to enjoy herself on stage. Even moments beforehand, Tildy was already riding the high of attention. Levy’s chest burst with a mixture of pride and envy. I’m charming, aren’t I? He’d like to be on a stage someday. 

But not today. It was her moment to shine, and he wanted— needed— her to be even brighter than those horrible stage lights. She would certainly gain more attention than the host, Reyd Garrison, an older comedy actor that had retired from interesting films to mock or flirt with whatever interviewees he liked. Levy wasn’t particularly happy about the latter habit of Garrison’s being inflicted on his Tildy, but he was both popular and entertaining, so Levy couldn’t complain. 

Backstage, Tildy was pacing back and forth, gloved hands folded neatly in front of her. The dress she was wearing didn’t flow behind her, staying in a perfect cut around her. He reached out to touch it, and tracing his fingers against the edge of her dress as she passed, found it oddly reminiscent of canvas— extremely starched, and blankly white. It was no wedding dress, but seeing her in white made him ache for her more than usual. Although entirely different in its shaping and design, it was the same color as the nightgown she’d worn in his dream. 

Her heels were short and bright-red leather, although Levy doubted it was real. They clicked against the floor quietly as she walked back and forth behind the curtain, her eyes trained on the talk-show host as he wrapped up his conversation with the previous guest— someone from one of many idiotic anti-violence groups, the type of people who would protest the work Levy did, and were never important enough to be his targets. 

As they began to get louder in their spiel, shouting into the audience to ask if this was the world they wanted their children to live in, the host signaled someone on the other end of the stage. 

“Thank you for that passionate display! Maybe we’ll see you in the next blockbuster dystopia film about a world where there is wanton violence.” The guest walked offstage looking offended, and Tildy stopped pacing. 

She turned to Levy, unsmiling. “Levy—” Tildy began, grabbing his arm for a moment and pulling him a step closer to her. “For luck.” She  turned her face to the side. 

Levy paused, his forearm still firmly in her grasp. 

“Now— our next guest, might actually share your sentiment. We’ve got a brand-new face to introduce to you all today, an actress from all the way in nineteen fifty.” Garrison continued. 

Tildy tapped at her cheek expectantly. “Any day now.” 

He leaned over her, placing one hand on the back of her neck and delicately kissed her, right atop of where her blush was placed. It might have been too dark to tell, but Levy thought, for a moment, that her face was more flushed as he pulled away. “Good luck,” he whispered, stepping back as they called her name. 

Immediately, Tildy walked out in perfect model fashion, dress swaying with her hips as she went to shake his hand. 

The lights caught her face as she turned into the live studio audience and waved, blowing them a kiss as Reyd loudly introduced her. Levy leaned against the wall backstage, enveloped by the shadow of the curtains he was peering through. As she sat down, Tildy squinted at the various cameras and motion-capture machines before quickly refocusing and redirecting her attention to the host and audience. Good girl.

“So, let me just get this straight Matilda— what year were you born?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair. 

She laughed, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back on the couch comfortably. “Please, call me Tildy. And hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to ask a lady her age, Reyd?” She retorted, her large, carefully-styled waves bouncing as she tilted her head at him. He laughed and delved into apologies and Tildy flapped her hand at him in reassurance that she was only joking. “I was born in nineteen thirty— but make no mistake, I’m only twenty six.” She said the word ‘only’ a little funny, as if twenty six wasn’t young at all. Though, Reyd Garrison was in his forties and only looked a little older than Tildy. But he was famous, and most people who could afford proper care lived at least ten years past a hundred. 

“Well, even today, no one could possibly live to be two hundred. Now, I’ve been clued in already, but Tildy, if you wouldn’t mind sharing with the audience how you look so impossibly good after all these years…” 

She laughed again, and Levy’s chest tightened as she slid in slightly closer to Reyd, and then turned to face the audience with a sly expression, as if she was telling them all a secret. I knew it all already. I know more than she knows about herself. He’d never considered himself a jealous person, at least not when it came to people. Envious, of course— he envied anyone with better circumstances than him. But jealous? Absolutely not. He didn’t care enough about any of his lovers to feel possessive over them. 

Tildy wasn’t even his lover, and yet, Levy was burning with bitter desire as he stared holes into the back of her head. 

She leaned forward towards the crowd, still ignoring the various technology that followed her every move on stage. “I was in cryosleep.” 

Reyd made an idiotic gesture like a bomb going off as the audience gasped and chattered. It must have been at least a hundred in the crowd, and Levy’s ire was now directed towards them. I wish I was getting a better view, he thought mournfully.
“And yes, to answer your questions, it was very cold,” she said, and the crowd laughed quietly, still reeling from this new development. “But, perhaps that’s why I was the sole survivor,” She, shrugged. 

“I mean, I was told beforehand, and I still don’t know what to make of it. You’re one of a kind.” 

Tildy laughed, waving his compliment off. “Oh Reyd, I was one of a kind far before I slept my way into the future.” 

You were. She was one of a kind even before she’d killed her sister. Even though you never really did. She was the only one of her kind that existed. Sara was simply a prototype. 

“Then, Tildy— in regards to the future, what plans do you have here? Is there anything you’d like to do? I’m sure you’ve been having a wonderful time so far.” 

Reyd was giving her an easy tossup. Tildy just had to say she wanted to act again, and dozens of agents would be calling the studio to get her contact information. Levy’s contact information. He was her real agent— her protector against the industry, and keeper of all her darkest secrets. 

Still, Tildy hesitated to respond for a moment. “Well I’m… still adjusting, of course. I mean, we all joked about having flying cars someday, but who knew!” The audience laughed again, and that seemed to spur her back onto her script. “In terms of my plans… I’m here to restart my career. What kind of an actress quits at two hundred?” More laughter. Levy couldn’t quite make out all their facial expressions, but he knew they were hooked. Who wouldn’t be? He was the first fish she’d caught, ever since he’d dreamed her into existence.

“I must not be much of an actor— I’m already practically retired at forty.” Forty-five, more like. Levy thought bitterly. “But, you heard it here first everyone, she’s looking for work! I’m sure the producers are going to just eat you up,” he said, grinning at her like he was first in line. 

“Well, I didn’t come all this way for nothing,” Tildy replied, smiling back like she might tear his heart out and eat it. 

It warmed Levy’s own heart to see her thinly-veiled disgust, and it certainly made him happy to see how Reyd seemed to buy it, shooting her a wink before turning back to the audience. “Well, unfortunately, that’s all the time we have for tonight, but I’m sure you’ll be seeing much more of this lovely lady. Let’s give it up for Tildy, everyone!” He stood up and clapped first, and Tildy seemed to revel in the attention, beaming into the audience genuinely.

She waved as she exited the stage, and Levy stepped back from the wall, waiting to greet her when she finally escaped the cameras. 

As soon as she stepped out of the light her smile dropped. Tildy put her full body weight onto him, just leaning onto his chest as if she was expecting him to carry her. 

“That was much harder than I thought it’d be…” she admitted, her face squished against the front of his silk shirt. 

Levy placed an arm around her back and began rubbing it up and down soothingly. “I would’ve been hyperventilating.” It was a lie, but only to make her feel better. “You did amazing.” 

Tildy sighed, her breath warm against Levy’s sternum in a way that sent shivers up his spine. “Obviously. But it was more intense than I’m used to. I’m tired,” she said, pulling back from Levy and tossing her hair dramatically. 

“Time to go home?” 

 She nodded, smiling at him. “Time to go home.” 

So, home they went— together, as Levy had always envisioned. 

About the Author

I’ve been writing ever since I could consciously hold a pen and form a sentence. I have dozens of journals filled with hand-written stories from all of elementary school, filled mostly with terrible fantasy and random stories about my stuffed animals. I’ve always written fiction, and even as a kid I was very character-focused. For this piece, I had created the character of Matilda Doyle a long time ago, but had no idea how to incorporate her into a non historical setting. In this story, she is a character within her own story- created by the man she falls in love with, Levy. This chapter is where her journey outside of Levy begins, but it’s also where she begins to accept that she does want to pursue him romantically- despite previously having reservations about dating her ‘caretaker’ in the futuristic world. The story has gotten darker than I envisioned, and I’ve been enjoying writing the romance more than I thought I would. I initially planned for it to be more sci-fi, but it’s gotten much more thriller/romance than I’d anticipated. I write in third-person limited perspective, so while it is third person, Levy is influencing the narration and he tends to be quite an unreliable narrator. Despite him creating Tildy, he has no idea what goes on in her mind, and the audience is left to wonder what she is thinking as she experiences life for the first time. It explores themes of morality, betrayal, whirlwind romance, and friendship even in the dark, corporate-controlled world of 2194.

Instagram: @ethanox_7

Cover design created using Canva design tools.