Chapter 4 “Money, money, money! Will no one rid me of these debts?”
Chapter 4
“Money, money, money! Will no one rid me of these debts?”
January 4th, 2026.
150,000.
Matt stared at the figure on his notepad, both aghast at the number and at the same time relieved it wasn’t higher. It didn’t take long for both to wither as indignation quickly followed as he gave the far left of his workbench a side-eye.
There lay a scattering of odd bits and slips of paper. Most were barely a hand’s span long and palm wide. His gaze lingering fondly over these, Matt smiled at these proud markers to time, willfulness, and folly. A grimace quickly followed though as his gaze slid over the rest. A significant portion of these papers were rather long and rectangular, and heavily crumpled. Worse, each was filled with a mass of red letters, black boxes with large font scribbles within, or exclamation marks.
Rent and electric bills. Overdue bills from debtors, banks, loan apps, friends, family, strangers. Legal bills forwarded from lawyers both foe and unfriendly. Grocery lists lodged in the least… a figure accruing mostly due to the bare essentials of noodles and cheap, canned fish. Medical bills were on the rise the past few months, the figure itself mostly tied to treatments for boils and ulcers…
Matt lifted the weight off the one butt-cheek he could use, easing a palm underneath to gently massage the numbness off before going back to an uneasy perch. Before he could delve into the slight relief, another rumble in his tummy reminded him of why he was going over a list he already knew by heart.
The list of debtors looked as complete as memory could be.
With a frown on his face, Matt then went over the list again, wondering whether he’d missed something. Perhaps… perhaps there was somewhere he hadn’t thought of to hit yet? Then he threw a quick glance at the calendar:
February 07, 2026.
Cas should have sent over the cash by now, no?
Though the hunger was beginning to play tricks with his memory, Matt was certain of that. The code he’d sent over just over a week ago should have been gone through by now. Maybe even integrated into whatever it was they wanted it for.
Maybe call?
Matt decided, sucking a couple of molars on the right side of his jaw. It wasn’t just the ulcers; the boils he was developing were beginning to affect more than his ability to sleep or move. If he didn’t get that looked into, he might have more medical bills to cover in a few weeks.
Humming to himself, Matt did the math; landlady right now should be mildly interested in carrying out an eviction notice on him.
Maybe pop over to her place and see whether she had anything that needed fixing?
Feeling the itching from his robe, Matt grimaced.
Maybe do a shower first. And put on something nicer.
Next, Matt’s thoughts shifted back from debts to more debts.
Heard there was a new soup kitchen opening up two streets over. They’ll have to start with something nicer, right? Should push my reserves a bit more.
That thought was punctuated with a wince as he scraped over a sore he didn’t know was there. Quickly though, the pain faded, replaced by a deeper pain.One was less sharp, yet more deeply rooted.
Matt threw another glance to his right, but this time there was a gloss covering his eyes.
‘Maybe I am in too deep?’Matt wondered as his eyes shifted to the right of his workbench before shuddering.
~ Ѡ ~
February 23, 2026.
Matt’s knuckles froze an inch from the knob when the voice once again barked through the door, instinct screaming something his reptilian brain recognized. That’s when his fatigued brain registered what it was the voice said earlier.
“Gas meter reading?”
His whole body freezing, Matt’s breath caught. Behind him, the apartment’s single bulb flickered against the peeling wallpaper. His heart thudded as he backed away and slid behind the door frame, shoulders braced against the wood. It took a while for the head shaking and frowning to cease as memory kicked in.
A week ago…
A harsh knock. His name called. Peeping through the spyhole showed a man in overalls, lowered cap. Fumbling for the key, hand shaking in hunger, he’d suddenly remembered that every package would arrive under his ex’s name. Freezing, Matt stood behind the door, eye on the spyhole while commanding his legs not to shift and betray him. Then a second knock, just as harsh as the first. A third slowly followed, then a fourth and fifth. When he saw the man’s visor lift to try somehow peep back through the peephole, Matt KNEW...
Back in the present, Matt closed his eyes, eyeball shifting and dancing like a metronome. Eyeballs scrolling through his memory, he tried to recall which of them had the harshest tones. Slowly, he begun working out who it was.
Sal’s goons? No, he’d kept up with most of it. Besides, if they wanted, they’d not bother with knocking…
Couldn’t be the utilities guys too…
Keatings? They’d have come with the cops…
Has to be the hospitals. One of them...
“Who’s the reading for?” There was a pause long enough for Matt to peg it as surprised.
“Apartment 4B… for a Mr. Matt Valt?”
Yep!
Matt’s palm thudded against the door’s interior. “Wrong address buddy.”
“Oh? Well, must be a mix-up with the filing back at the office. Thisis4B though, right?”
“Told you I’m not this Walsh guy already.”
Quickly, the man outside, voice laced with hope, returned, “Valt. It’s Valt.”
“What? Told you Walsh don’t live here.” Matt shouted back, a grim half-smile on his face.
“Who are you then? Can you sign for the owner? This could be a code violation if I have to go and come back you know.” The man returned. After a long while of silence, he added, “Well, it doesn’t matter about the name. Those get mixed up all the time. Its the apartment number that counts. I still need to check the meter–”
“Kick rocks.” Matt hissed, making a point of forcefully hitting the bolts home.
Silence fell. After several heartbeats, Matt dared to peek across the peephole. The corridor was empty.
Exhaling, the tension leaked from his shoulders. He turned the lock, cracked the door, and pulled it open. Pale hallway light spilled in. Matt closed his eyes against it, giving himself a moment.
Before he let the door swing shut, he glanced up at the lintel on the outside, tracing out the “4B” on it. Another sigh escaped him.
“I’ve got to make another purchase,” he muttered, wincing again as his teeth brushed against his gum again.
~ Ѡ ~
April 3, 2026.
Matt looked at his hands, worn and scarred from the last disassembled circuit board. They trembled from overuse. Too many nights hunched under low lights, parsing symbols, sketching nonsense that maybe wasn’t nonsense.
It didn’t feel obsessive. Not anymore. It felt... natural. Like his body was following some embedded instruction—an old, silent protocol inside his marrow. Something older than thought. Something that whispered:
Go further. Reach.
And so Matt reached.
Further. Deeper.
Even now, with his accounts bled dry. Even now as sleep eluded him and nutrition became anecdotal, the Work continued.
Still…
What if all of this, the human impulse to probe, to discover, to tinker, wasn’t progress? What if it was a trap? A cosmic setup hardcoded into his biology? A kind of invisible dare left lying around the human brain by whatever made the universe in the first place?
Matt wiped his hands on a ragged towel, stared at the coffee maker. The hunger was causing his mind to wander. To wonder and to question.
Am I doing the right thing? What if I trip some God-switch? What if this thing really does answer?Best case, the code is benevolent. A vast cosmic recursion, meant to make us gods in God’s image… because God was lonely. Worse case?
Sweat broke out on his forehead as his body’s sugar begun playing games. At the same time, he couldn’t help recall the Children’s Stories he used to love to read.
One in particular…
An angry man, standing before a town hall. His hands are wild; thrown up and down and everywhere in between, a pair from the town watch move to flank him. Seeing them approach, the man grows angrier. Stands, points at the four seated at the table up front. Stops, turns, points a slim finger at the rest of the gathering…
When he walks out, urgent whispers begin. First, among the many seated together. Then the few up top. Then the watch, urgently rush outside, but find no one…
That night, all the children in the town get up from their beds and follow a tune out and into the forest...
Fatigue and hunger driving his thoughts, Matt wiped sweat-slicked palms on his jeans, wondering why they were even though the room was cold. Then he got to thinking about the soldering iron sitting unplugged beside him, cord curled like a sleeping snake. Hadn’t touched it in months. Didn’t even know why he’d brought it out in the first place.
Dizzy, Matt is startled at the sound of his phone buzzing against the table. Its another message. Probably another debt collector again; the one who’d started adding little emojis to the threats.
~ Ѡ ~
April 22, 2026.
Focused on his notes as he was, Matt couldn’t have said what it was that startled him. Then his eyes snapped to the blinking light on his laptop. A motion sensor notification tied to his door camera was triggered as heavy boots thudded against the hallway carpet.
Then the knock came.
“Mr. Valt? This is Officer Reyes, welfare check. Open up, please.”
Matt ‘leapt’ to his door, booted feet ‘sloshing’ through a mound of trash, then pressed his back into the peeling plaster and took a breath to recoup from the exertion. A glance through the peephole confirmed to him that the scene from his laptop was not illusion wrought of near-starvation.
Beyond the narrow lens were three uniforms.
No warrant. Matt reminded himself. They don’t bother knocking if they got one.
He flicked off the deadbolt and cracked the door just enough to speak through the gap.
“I’m not opening without a warrant,” he called, voice low but steady. That got a chuckle in response, one that, upon reflection, made Matt’s pale face flush in embarrassment.
“What’s this about?” He growled, the rasp in his voice sounding genuine because of how parched he was.
A second officer leaned forward. “Welfare check, sir, Concerned citizen reported you might harm yourself. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Matt swallowed as his thoughts ramped up.
Mary called the cops on him? No, he’d spoken to her a day ago. Used some from what Cas sent. Promised more. No way she would do this now.
Relief flickered across Matt’s brow before it curdled in suspicion. Greed did crazy things to you. More dangerous that survival, come to think of it. Maybe she wanted him out of her apartment and be done with him?
“This isn’t from Mary, is it? I’m only like a month behind, but she knows I’m working on it. We already talked–”
There was quiet banter he couldn’t catch. Finally, Reyes spoke again, inching his head forward to stare past Matt and into the apartment.
“No, sir. It’s Mrs. Caldwell two doors down. She said she heard yelling last night. Banging? Thought there was some kind of domestic going on. Mind me seeing some ID real quick?”
A cold knot formed in Matt’s gut. Debt collectors, prying into every detail. They must have got to the old spinster, spun a yarn to get her to work for them.
Dammit! Damn woman doesn’t even know my real name is Matt! Always called me Matteo!
Matt yanked the door open in one smooth motion. It also made the trio of officers freeze.
What they saw before them was a man so gaunt and hollowed-out he may as well have been carved out from shadows. Matt’s bathrobe hung open against his visibly outlined ribcage. The safety boots laced tight seemed out of place. Not much so when they thought more on the state of the ‘soft’ floor around the man. Around Matt’s ankles was a carpet of flattened noodle boxes, soda cans, and forgotten take‑out cartons pressed into the threadbare carpet. More than enough to warrant a genuine need to do a welfare check on him.
Just as the first officer was squaring his shoulders and motioning to the other two behind his back, he paused for a second time.
Matt’s eyes... they burned. Not the mad glare that made cops reach for their waists. It was something other kind of fierce. The kind of fire that drove desert Bedouins to righteous fury.
“Alright then! How does this work, huh? You run some psychiatric evaluation right here? Am I unconsciously revealing key words that show I’m gonna off myself?”
Not giving them time to react, Matt sloshed across the swamp and into his bedroom. Again, before they could react, he was out with a plastic card thing in his hands.
“That good enough? I know the face doesn’t look much, but you have to take my word for it. Also, says I’m mentally stable. Says right there below my face and name!”
The first cop –Reyes?– leaned back from the gust Matt’s invective threw across. Eyes scanning the ID, he handed it back before hooking his thumbs behind his belt, his face hardened.
“Listen buddy, we are only concerned about you. We get a call, we gotta look into it.” Then, eyes scanning the state of Matt’s room and floor, muttered in a voice Matt barely caught.
“Maybe they are right?”
Knowing that if things escalated he’d be playing into the hands of his persecutors, Matt stepped back, ushering the trio in with a wave of the hand.
“Look, why not come in, huh? I do restorations, software and hardware. Work from home and all that. Old hag downstairs wanted me to work on her fridge, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was dead a decade ago and some. This is her retaliating!”
“Well, see, the thing is we ain’t sure about that-” Reyes begun, eyeing the floor, and then his own boots. Seeing something small flash past one box into another, he took a step back.
Matt, seeing the man’s reaction, followed his eyes. Saw nothing.
“Yeah, I’ve been down and all, but no where near close enough to killing myself or that kinda crap. And I’m sure she made no mention of me threatening anyone too.”
Wiping his hands on a robe with all nineteen colors of the rainbow on it, Matt shoved a palm at the cop.
Reyes leaned back, pretending he couldn’t see the palm.
Matt blinked. Then lowered his palm.
“Um, look. She didn’t even get my name right. Always called me Matteo. Must have gone through my mail or something to find out. Maybe you should look into her for that?”
Eyebrows raised, Reyes laid a hard stare at Matt. “So she calls you by a different name than others do?”
Matt shrugged, refusing to be baited. “Point is we ain’t close enough she’d know what I was on about. Also, I think she must be half deaf or something.”
Reyes gave the apartment another look and saw nothing. When he took in a deep breath, he instantly regretted it!
“Well, we will pass by her place and talk to her. Maybe keep the noise down?” He said, struggling to keep the tears from his eyes as he backed out from the apartment and door.
“Sure! Sure! I rarely work nighttime, as you can see. I’ll keep the noise down; it was only the once though! I swear she has it out for me or something. Ask our landlord!”
“Okay, we done here.”
“Will do sir!”
Frowning at the retreating backs, Matt stared at the camera over his apartment door. It was not enough.
Maybe time to move?
~ Ѡ ~
May 15 2026.
It wasn’t so much that Matt wanted to crack the code. It was that something inside him insisted on it.
Not desire; not that. He knew desire’s stink.
Not intent either. That would have implied he knew what he was on about.
Instinct?
There were times, late in the night, the mind worn and depleted beyond thought, and the brain weary and drawn due to hunger, when Matt wondered. Did the science theories get it wrong when they argued over the question of nature over nurture?
Unbidden, the image of a baby turning over for the first time came to his mind. The legs kicked, cycling and peddling the air. Then a heave and there it was; with its own effort, it was on its belly, and the world aright for the ‘first’ time. How strange it looked. How inevitable the process appeared.
Did the baby do it because it saw others walking on their own? Learning didn’t work that way. Made little sense. But if was remembering… Maybe the baby was remembering how to get to walking because something inside the baby pushed him to walk…
Urgh! Have to move!
