This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/BadandyTheRed on 2024-11-25 00:31:06+00:00.
I don't know how much longer I will have the stomach for this job. Sure the pay is good, but I find myself more and more troubled by the things I have to collect and the people who I have to interact with. It seemed like a great gig at first but the more I have been at it, the more my concerns mount. I will tell you about some of the encounters I have had as a debt collector, for some, well let's just say strange things.
Oh and if Mr. Salazar asks you about this, just pretend you never saw it. Anyway the first job I took that got me thinking about my reservations for this line of work was just the other day.
I had arrived at the location and parked my car outside the house of another target. A bit further down the road to not attract too much attention. I thought he would be home at this point and I had to make sure I was ready. I looked at the collection notice and almost did a double take. It was another weird one, though I suppose they have all been weird so far. I looked at the list to double check and sure enough it read just the way I thought I saw it.
“One teardrop from a shattered dream.”
The item seems very specific and if I had not been doing this for a few weeks now I might not have known what Mr. Salazar wanted. I read more of the writ of collection on the man I was to extract the item from. I sighed when I saw it was another poor and desperate soul who had made a “Deal with the devil” and lived to regret it. I winced at my own analogy and considered how on point it really was. Something was very off about Mr. Salazar, but he always paid well and I was not going to start reexamining his motives now, not when there was a job to do.
I got out of my car and grabbed my toolkit and walked towards the house. The light was on inside and there was a glimmer of lights and motion in the living room. Likely watching TV or something, I figured. That would make this easier, it would be nice if I could catch them off guard so a fight would not be necessary. I looked left and right to make sure no one saw me lingering on his porch and I pulled out the skeleton key and inserted it into the door. It slowly opened on loud hinges and I winced at the sound. I hoped he had not heard it.
I stepped in and carefully tried to close the door behind me. I paused and thought I heard motion in the living room but it subsides. He might just be shifting in a chair or something. I walked slowly to the living room and sure enough there he was.
Scott Bergman, client of Mr. Salazar and delinquent on an outstanding debt. It never seems to have actual monetary values printed on these collection writs. Only the name, the failure to pay and the strange item that is to be collected.
I took a breath and reached into my coat pocket to produce my Beretta. It might be overkill in this situation but a lot of the people I have visited so far have had firearms of their own and I have been shot at enough in the last few weeks to not take any chances.
I stepped into the living room and my footsteps are masked by the loud volume of the TV showing some college football game. As the sound dies down after a big play on screen, I clear my throat loudly and say,
“Hello Mr. Bergman, who is winning?”
He whipped around to see who was in his house and nearly fell out of his chair. I thought he was about to reach for something when I stepped forward to ensure the sight of my pistol was fully visible. He froze and I took a step and requested that he,
“Please sit down, I am just here to talk for a bit and inquire about what is owed.” He sat back down and glared at me, unsure of what to say and knowing that he was in a bad spot.
Despite the threat I had no intention of shooting him unless he gave me a reason, I was here to collect what Mr. Salazar wanted and it would require a conversation. He finally decided to speak and nervously said,
“Okay, okay. I know what Mr. Salazar said but I just needed more time. I can’t go yet I needed to see her one more time.” I tried to determine what he meant and found myself wishing I knew a bit more about these bizarre deals that Mr. Salazar struck with these people. Though I thought about some of the things I had seen so far and reconsidered wishing to know too much. I needed to find out more about who I was dealing with.
“What sort of work are you in Mr. Bergman? Or Scott, may I call you Scott?”
He nodded his head without responding directly as if he was considering if he should really talk about his work but he looked down at the gun pointing his way and managed a weak,
“Construction, I am in construction.”
I nodded my own head and responded, while looking around his living room to see rows of old high school football trophies.
“Construction, eh? Well, that is a nice honest profession, makes me wonder how you got roped into dealing with Mr. Salazar. No wait, please, don’t tell me I really do not need to know. Though from the looks of things it was not your first career choice.” I told him, while gesturing to the football trophies.
He looked over at them and back at me and did not respond. He was being a bit tight lipped and it was making this harder than it needed to be, to get what I came for. I kept the gun trained on him and set my case down on the ground and reached for the tuner. The tuner was what I called the strange oblong crystal that Mr. Salazar gave me. I did not like to use it every time since it gave me a killer headache afterwards, but I was breaking and entering and did not want to linger here for too long in case someone saw me here and things got messy. I rolled the thing over in my hands and stared intently at the center. Then I threw the tuner to Mr. Bergman and he caught it without thinking about it.
“Good catch, you did play college ball, didn't you?” I told him as I saw the refracting light washing over his face in the hypnotic pattern it always did. Scott Bergman was dead to the outside world for the moment and as he stared dumbly into the crystal. I took it back from him and braced myself as I stared into the object and felt my spatial awareness altering. I saw training, drills, formations and calling plays. Throwing, catching, running and everything over and over again. This guy had been a quarterback.
I continued looking on and saw a pretty girl. He spoke to her at lunch, he walked her home almost every day, they shared a kiss under the high school bleachers. Her name was Clair and Scott thought that he loved her. He wanted to be with her but he had to move away. He had to go, to make his dreams of going pro come true. I felt the guilt emanating from the decision. I saw the tears, the heartfelt appeal and the breakup. Then I saw the injury, followed by depression, then academic failure. The lost hope of what he wanted most in life and I knew I had what I had come for.
I felt bad forcing this man to relive those painful moments, but I tried to steel myself against it. I knew some of his story but not all of it. I am sure if I looked deeper, I would see something less appealing and sympathetic. At least that is what I always told myself.
I covered the crystal and snapped my fingers and Scott came back to his senses. He cried out and then remembered where he was and put his hands up before getting out of his chair. He asked again,
“Please, what do you want? I have nothing left to give. Just tell Salazar I can find a way to repay him without going. Please?” I braced myself for the worst part and spoke again.
“Now Scott I want to believe you, but I know you. I know you are lying to me and to yourself. Just like you did when you said that you would let her go and find her again when you were an NFL star. That is what you told Clair, wasn't it?”
His eyes widened and I could tell he could not believe I had known that. I saw a flare of anger cross his features and I cocked the hammer on the Beretta to cool things down and keep him from making any dumb decisions. Before he could respond with the inevitable, “How did you know?” I cut him off and spoke first.
“You said it would be worth it; you told her you had to try and follow your dream. Your dream was to be a star, Her's was just to be with you. You have achieved something impressive. Most people can only shatter their own dreams but you managed to destroy two for the price of one. Every day you think to yourself, what if? What if I had just stayed? Would she still be here? Well, no one can really know the answer but you wanted to know, you wanted to see. Now there is a price to be paid.”
I saw tears welling in his eyes and the pain underneath was difficult to look at. I found myself wishing I was just here to break his legs and take his wallet. Breaking a spirit is so much worse. I stepped forward and he flinched back but I grabbed his head and put a small vial up to his right eye and collected the teardrop from the painful reminiscence of a mans shattered dream. I stepped back and the man broke down and wept openly.
He continued crying softly and apologizing to the memory of his lost love even as I turned and left the house. His tortured mind too preoccupied with the past to even regard my own departure. I closed the door and walked back to my car clutching my head in pain. That damn thing always gave me the worst headaches. I tried to focus on my own discomfort to not think about what I made that man go through. I had no idea what Mr. Salazar would do with this grim trophy but after this one I felt worse than I normally did.
I tried to banish the guilt and drove away from the house and towards my employer. At least someone would be happy today.