Ugly Love...and other Monroe Stories: Monroe Stories, #2

By Matthew Buza

Look hard, and you'll find a bit of strange in any town.

 

Monroe is no different, a simple town full of weird stories.

 

Festering beneath our mundane lives is the world of the supernatural, horror, and macabre.

 

A dead body found in your neighbor's house; That teacher who's too friendly; A derelict building revealing a hidden maze; A mother who's lost everything; Locked backyard cellars hiding our deepest secrets.

 

Is Monroe just another city on the way into the mountains, or is it more?

 

Find out in this collection of Monroe Stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew Buza
• Release date: Nov 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201590413

Book preview

Ugly Love

...and other Monroe Stories

––––––––

By

MATTHEW BUZA

Copyright © 2021 by Matthew Buza.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For information, contact: www.matthewbuza.com

Referenced maps are from www.openstreetmap.org and distributed under the ODbL license.

Book by Matthew Buza

ISBN-10:

ISBN-13: 

First Edition: March 2021

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Thank you for taking the time to read my book. I hope you enjoy the journey. When you are finished please take a moment and head back to leave me a review. It really helps me to establish myself and for others to find the book. Please head over to my website to sign up for my mailing list and check out what other books I have available. I wish you the best.

www.matthewbuza.com

My writing often contains violence and language. If you are sensitive to this type of content, please consider before you continue to read and review. If this work were to be made into a movie (USA), it would be rated R.

Contents

Breakout

Writhe

Brother’s Keeper

A Good Pair of Eyes

Overturned

Ugly Love

Get A Free Book

About the Author

Monroe

A simple town full of weird people

Ugly Love

...and other stories

By: Matthew Buza

Breakout

The wobbling static echoed through the speakers as Sheriff Young stepped into the media floodlights. Just a few hours before, he had been enjoying a gourmet microwave meal and sharing shitty memes on a private Facebook group. But now, heavy beads of sweat poured off his brow and spread through the thick wrinkles that stretched across his face. The lights were hot. But the inconvenience might mean job security. Time to look good. Time to shine that star. He looked up, and through the anxious faces, lines of cameras, and lights, he could see the name Young on a distant election placard near the traffic light. His stomach tensed again. He was running unopposed, and he didn’t anticipate camera time this election. Nervously, Young’s hands touched the edge of his paunch. Round and firm. The shirt seams and his dust-covered Fitbit in his nightstand agreed there were not enough daily steps. But this wasn’t a campaign speech. It was the rare moment his job called for more than just the daily briefing or pay reviews. Young looked up with the rust falling off his charisma, he started his performance.

At this time, we will... he coughed into his clammy fist. Sorry, everyone. Let me start again, please...sorry about that...I want to get this right for ya’ll. This wasn’t a normal day for us around here...(cough). At this time, we will not release the suspect’s name. We can confirm he is male and that roughly two hours ago, the suspect escaped from the Monroe Correctional Facility. It occurred in the Minimum-Security Unit. We will not release full details at this time until a complete investigation has been conducted. But what I can tell you is that the suspect was meeting with a loved one at the time of the visit. We believe her to be the girlfriend. We can also confirm she had brought with her a newborn baby. During the escape, two officers were injured. They have been moved to Evergreen hospital in Kirkland. At this moment, we cannot share their status, other than that they were injured in the process of stopping the suspect. 

Matyas crawled through the thick brush. Over his shoulder was the correctional facility and the endless flood of wailing sirens. Spotlights searched the hill south towards the High School and left long shadows of spindly trees draped across the ground. They were looking for Matyas.

The sun melted into the dark fields of reed grass that boarded the Fryelands and Lake Tye. Matyas could smell the warm decay of summer as the evening quickly cooled. Mosquitoes nipped at the sweat, building a long V down his shirt. He had reached the end of Main street. To his right were the lights of downtown Monroe, bisected by the highway, and in the distance, the warm orange hue of the fairgrounds where the dirt track racers were spewing dust into the air. 

His arm throbbed where the bullet had ripped into his shoulder. The torn flesh had peeled back, and he pressed it tight, hoping for the sticky blood to glue it shut. The red smeared between his fingers. The small hole paused and then surged a new thick blob of blood. The shock had worn off, and with the nerves slowly waking, he could feel the first surge of pain.

Keep moving.

Matyas turned away from town and jogged down the sidewalk past two roundabouts. A car dealer sat on the corner with new cars decorated the road edge, reflecting the bright streetlights like a disco ball. 

Matyas paused for a moment marveling at the work truck with the chrome finish. Shiny and beautiful. The lights in the dealer were out. 

Smash and grab? He wondered. Keys and I’m gone.

The siren paused and sounded again, kicking Matyas out of his daydream. He didn’t need to escape. He just needed a ride and some time. The streets and the surrounding area would soon be crawling with cops when they found out he was outside the prison perimeter. And worst yet, every one of them clawing at the chance to get revenge. There was no time to break into the dealer safe, especially with no tools, and worse yet, no plan. 

There were easier ways. 

Neon green lights flashed through an alcove cut into the trees. A barista stand had been placed in an old parking lot. On the roof was a mechanized cowgirl illuminated with a spotlight—her leg bouncing off her knee.

Hey, sweet thing, Matyas smiled. There were easier ways, indeed.

He clung to the parking lot shadows, his torn shirt trailing in his wake as a mist of dark blood droplets dotted the asphalt behind.

The Barista shack’s roadside window was shuttered black. The tree line was hued red from the brake lights wrapping around the rear. Convenient wood paneling hid the driver side windows from accidental identification by spouses or friends.  It might be embarrassing for one’s wife to discover their husband getting a caffeine fix and a jiggly before heading home.

As he reached the back door, Matyas could smell the warm coffee. His mouth began to water uncontrollably. After nearly five years of sucking down lukewarm crude, the fresh grind felt like freedom, and that was something he so desperately desired. Just the chance to leave that old life behind. Of course, he was skipping out on time, but that didn’t matter. He was willing to give his life to taste that freedom again. And the off chance to do it all over. Free of his father. Free of the poverty that plagued his life and rewired his brain wrong. Free from hurt and abuse, and to live a life that only he touched. He felt it all as he smelled that fresh brew. He was jealous of that world, and he wanted his piece.

Carefully Matyas slid into the small wooden hut. Overhead twangy country music played on the speakers and drowned out the nearby sirens.

Standing in the middle of the shack was a slim pale woman dressed in nothing more than a black thong. Her blonde hair dangled over her chest, where a clever X of black tape covered her nipples. Regulations were important, and one wouldn’t want to be accused of being lewd. Besides, it would be painful later that night to pull the tape, but at this moment, she was enjoying the music. Her feet tapped to the rhythm and gave off waves that rippled through her waist and breasts.

Matyas froze at the free show. His stomach tingled. It had been a long time. A rising heat boiled in his gut. He watched her hips as she worked the espresso machine. Coffee and milk went into the cup. She loaded a lid and a straw and turned to the window with a fake smile spread across her lips. With a sharp smack of her heel and a quick twist of her shoulders, she let loose the show. Clink! Went the sound of a tip falling into the jar. Her eyes fluttered as a flash from a cell phone camera illuminated the interior of the shack. The truck pulled away, and so did her smile. 

The woman turned and saw the brooding shadow of Matyas. His eyes reflected in the dim light.  She instinctively hid her breasts and pressed her right hand out. Get out! I’ll call the cops, she screamed.

Matyas came into the light, and the horror melted off her face. "No, you won’t, Josie."

Matyas, what are you doing here?

I need a ride.

I’m not off for another hour, and you know I can’t help you. Carlos has us all on a schedule and would have my ass beat red.

I’m not looking for a driver. Give me your keys.

Listen, I can call you an uber or something. You can use the phone.

A car honked outside of the window. "What are you doing in there?"

Give me a minute, sugar, even pretty girls shit sometimes, Josie said as she closed the hut window. She turned down the radio to a low hum. The distant sound of the sirens skittered in. Josie’s eyes shot towards the correctional facility and then back to Matyas. Why are you here?

Give me your keys.

You’re supposed to be locked up. Where’s Carla?

I had to leave her back there, Josie. Now, I’m not going to ask you again. Matyas reached out towards Josie, blood dripping off his wrist. Give me the goddamn keys. I’ve only got a short time.

Josie looked down to see the blood pooling near her feet. She scanned his body, his shirt was open, but his bare chest was covered in a black carrier. She flipped the lights on. Two tiny feet dangled at Matyas’s waist. Around his chest, two arms gripped at the straps. And a tuft of bright blond hair swayed with every nervous move Matyas made.

Jesus, is that a baby? Why do you have a baby?

Fuck it! You stupid bitch. Matyas lunged for Josie and pushed her to the side. He pulled at her purse and rooted for her keys.

Is that your kid? Matyas! Is that yours? I didn’t know Carla and you...

Shut up! Where are...got’em!

Matyas, are they coming for you?

Matyas saw Josie’s cell phone plugged into the sound system. He pulled the cord and tossed the phone into his pocket. He was out of the hut and into her green Ford Ranger before Josie could gather herself.

Matyas hushed the baby as the cab came alive. He adjusted the mirror and caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were tired, bloodshot. Matyas shook off a yawn as his body trembled. He placed a hand on the baby’s back and shifted into first.

Sheriff Young’s hands felt clammy as if he had touched something evil. He ran his thumbs across his palm, pressing out the rail grit stuck in the webbing. It was still four months until his daughter would give birth to his first grandchild. He wasn’t the baby type. They scared him, and he feared hurting them beneath his numb fingers. Thirty years had passed since the last time he had held an infant, that, and two hours ago on the tracks.

At roughly 8:04 pm, we received a call from a customer at the nearby coffee hut. They notified us of an agitated man who accosted an employee and stole a vehicle. A trooper arrived and found the barista shaken. She had been robbed, and her truck had been stolen. She was able to confirm the identity of the suspect, that he had been injured, and that he was transporting the child with him.

Matyas awoke from a daze. The sharp pain of a migraine stung his eyes, and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. He felt like a sandcastle washed away at high tide. The adrenaline that had been surging through him for days seemed to have disappeared. Long sleepless nights and nervous pacing during the day had caught up