The following narrative is recounted by: ABRAHAM BOSSON
Well, it's been a while since I thought about any of this. With everything happening, I wanted nothing but to stray far away from all things Tuct Side and darkness permeating it. Monsters existed everywhere, I know that, but it's always the first interaction that follows you around like your own personal demon. Wondering if you could have done something. If there was a single second where you could have changed everything for the better.
A toxic mindset, but I'm a middle-aged man. I don't think much about anything these days.
As you already know, the name's Abraham Bosson, born an only child on July 16th, 1964 to a middle-class couple somewhere in Canada. I grew up alright, going to shooting ranges with my dad and learning how to make a mean lasagna with my mom. I was so unaware of the dangers the outside world presented. And it might make me an oddball to resent a bit of my childhood and adolescence when the most traumatizing thing to happen was a fistfight with an obnoxious jock. You'll probably understand why later on.
January 7th, 2006.
Any other mundane day for some. A birthday for others. I envy the lot of you.
For me and my family, it was a day the monsters that trotted around us finally came to our doorstep.
I have a daughter. Scarlett. Beautiful then. Beautiful now. A marine biologist and a badass blackbelt in teaching martial arts. Despite all that happened that fateful, nightmarish night. It took a long time, but she bested whatever the world threw at her. But I'd be lying if I said that we completely forgot about that day.
We had been living in Tuct Side for some time now. I was a teacher at Wildwood, my daughter was a student there, and the town had still been very much divided by class. I don't exactly know what went down on the east side of things, but the west was a cesspool of filth and crimes nobody could make out of unscathed.
And January 7th is when we got marked.
Basketball has been to Tuct Side what football has been to Texas. God's favorite sport. And Wildwood had the worst of it. They might say it's about the sportsmanship, the competition, and the togetherness the event brings, but in reality, it was a throne room. A set of thrones designated for each player to sit on and reign over the lives of the rest of us peasants. Not even those within their court were exempt.
Bran Morterero.
An oaf of a young man at the time. Not that bright either considering he was held back in the eleventh grade twice in a row. A nineteen-going-on-twenty-year-old skulking around high school was already enough of a red flag. The Morterero was a big name, but only because of his proximity to the Hangman – also known as Jorge Rabellino. The trifecta was completed with his older brother Javier, who graduated a year earlier even though he was held back a total of three times. The younger Rabellino had a squeaky clean, golden boy record, but I knew better than to fall for that even back then.
They were at the top, a trio of future-criminal ruffians that threw their weight around like arrogant, white-collared rich pricks. Jorge was the "nicest" of the bunch. The mediator. The one who taught a child how to dunk a three-pointer or brought in cookies for the volleyball team on a whim. I didn't believe the "good boy" act for a second because there was always behind the curtains to take into account.
Javier and Bran were his muscle. They did all the dirty work that would tarnish Jorge's image in an instant if caught. The pair were already on the shit list. So what if they revealed their true colors every now and again? Plus, nobody seemed to care as long as they got in wins.
They were stars! So, what if one of them was lying about being on the basketball team and the other was leeching off his sibling's fame? They brought in gold, so we gave them land.
It was just supposed to be an innocent basketball party. Scarlett didn't even want to go, but her friends had pressured her into it. However, I always ended up blaming myself since I encouraged her to go and have fun. What was the harm in one party? I made it adamant for them to stick together and everything would be fine.
But truly, what was a group of girls to a team of basketball players who were basically worshipped like gods in their little town?
Somehow, six girls were drugged and raped during what was supposed to be a celebratory basketball party.
No preamble. No warning. No reason. Other than the fact that they could.
At least, that was the only explanation at the time.
One of those girls… was Scarlett.
That was one of the initial signs that not all was right in our small, basketball-fanatic community.
And I know for a fact that Bran Morterero was the ringmaster. It was evident in those cold, dead eyes of his. It was evident in the smug, unaffected expression he had on his face when he swaggered into school Monday morning. It was evident in the utter rage and hatred on his face when I confronted him about it while holding myself back from ripping the entrails from his body and choking him with them. And it was evident when he retaliated with a physical attack on me and another teacher over a week later, resulting in his expulsion.
He and several other players were accused, but the Morterero name had been associated with the darkness of the town for a while, and both incidents, regardless of the numerous reports filed, were buried under the soil.
Scarlett wanted me to let it go, but I couldn't. If it could happen to her, it could happen to any other unsuspecting woman.
Years later, I still refuse to go back to that place, and I'm almost sure this will be the last time I'll speak of anything that has to do with Tuct Side. Although, I will say that I'm glad this stuff is being brought to the light.
Finally.
It will help many realize that there will always be a war of good against evil, and we can't always expect to remain untouched on the sidelines. My Scarlett is a warrior. A fighter who has gone into battle with those forces of malevolence and came out on the other end scarred but victorious.
I just wish people hurt by such immoral acts could do the same.