Looking stunned, Jeff and Alex released Ricky. He sprang to his feet, breathing hard and staring at the floor.
"Ricky," Kurt said gently. "Maybe you could make another pot of coffee. I think some of us need it."
The man hesitated briefly before nodding and heading for the kitchen.
"What is going on?" Alex hissed, once Ricky was out of earshot. Jeff shook his head, lost.
Blaine was still gripping Kurt's shoulder protectively. "You're really all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just... a bit shaken up."
"You and me both." Blaine swallowed thickly. "Kurt... I'm sorry."
"What?"
"I'm sorry for kissing Rachel, and for going on a date with her, and for fighting with you... I'm sorry for all of it."
Kurt took a shaky breath. "I know. I'm sorry too."
"You mean so much to me–"
"You mean so much to me–"
"Hey," Alex said loudly. "Not to interrupt your touching moment or anything, but is someone going to explain what the fuck is happening here?"
"Why don't we all sit down," Kurt suggested, squeezing Blaine's hand and leading him over to the large dining room table. "Ricky was explaining everything to me when you three arrived, but there are still some parts I don't understand."
The boys settled in chairs around the table. Ricky appeared with mugs of coffee, setting one in front of each of them. When he noticed Jeff staring openly at his scarred back, he flushed self-consciously, and retrieved his shirt from the floor before slipping it on.
"Is this for real?" Alex asked, once Ricky had dropped into a chair as well. "You're really Ricky Mitchell?"
"Yes." Ricky ran a palm over his face, looking uncomfortable.
"So, what, you went insane after your abduction? You suddenly thought that's how normal people behaved?"
"Alex," Kurt admonished.
"Don't Alex me, Kurt. He drugged you, abducted you–"
"I know, but–"
"But nothing. We shouldn't be sitting around drinking coffee. We should be calling the police right now."
"They wouldn't understand," Kurt said weakly.
"Well I don't understand either! Explain it to me. Explain how–"
"You don't know what it's like," Ricky burst out. "One day you're a kid and you're out with your friends, and you have a few drinks, and suddenly you're tied up in some guy's basement while he–" Ricky broke off. "For five weeks. Five fucking weeks of the most brutal rapes, and endless beatings, and the constant threat of having my throat slit..."
Kurt swallowed a sob.
"It's not that we're not sympathetic," Jeff said guardedly. "But, I mean... maybe you should go talk to a therapist or something."
"I have. I've seen more therapists than I can count. There was the one who kept rubbing my back whenever I cried, even though I'd told him I didn't want to be touched. There was the one who told me the quickest way to feel better was to develop a new skill or hobby. And oh, my favorite was the one who suggested that the real reason I was so upset about everything was because I'd actually liked the experience and couldn't face the truth."
"Look, it's terrible, what happened to you," Blaine said. "No one's denying that. But you have to find a way to move on with your life."
"I tried. I enrolled at the University of Cincinnati. Went to class, made friends, did all the things I was supposed to do to distract myself."
"And?"
"And then I was walking down Broadway one day and overheard some high school boys talking about sneaking into Kinks. So I went up to them, told them what had happened to me when I went in there. They just told me they'd be smarter about it than I'd been, and went anyway." Ricky tangled his fingers in his hair, looking agonized. "I had to do something. So I started going around to high schools in the area, telling my story."
"That sounds like a good idea," Kurt offered.
"Yeah, in theory it was great. But it ended up being a disaster. I'd tell my story and they'd just stare at me. We tried having question-and-answer sessions. At the first one, a boy asked if I thought those five weeks were God's way of giving me a preview of my life in Hell for being gay. Another boy came up to me afterwards and told me he was gay but that I'd scared him into being straight. No one seemed to understand what I was trying to tell them; that they had to be careful, that there are predators out there."
"Like yours," Blaine said. "He's still out there somewhere, right?"
"Yeah. Still taking boys, too. Not every weekend, but often enough. He's gotten smarter about it. He only takes each boy for one night, and then leaves them in an alley the next morning. They never report it." Ricky shook his head. "Believe me, if I'd had the choice, I wouldn't have told anyone about the abduction either. But it's a lot easier to hide that sort of thing when you haven't been missing for over a month."
"But where does Kurt come into all this?" Alex pressed. "Why take him?"
"So your abductor wouldn't have the chance," Kurt said. "Right?"
"Yes and no. You're his type," Ricky admitted. "You look young, innocent. You didn't notice me following you and your friend for four blocks after hearing you talk about Kinks. And once you got inside the club, you were sitting alone – that's the biggest draw for him. He likes to take his time winning over the boys' trust."
"Then why don't any of them remember what he looks like?"
"It's one of the effects of the drug he uses on them. I don't remember much of anything from the night I was taken."
"But I do," Kurt ventured. "I remember everything."
Ricky gave him an incredulous look. "You think I'd use an actual date rape drug on you? Jesus, Kurt."
"Yeah, no, that would be insane," Alex said drily. "No, no, you just gave him Roofie Lite and brought him back to your place for a jam session."
"The point is to have you remember," Ricky said earnestly. He noticed Blaine, Alex and Jeff looking at him blankly, and added, "Do you guys really not get what this is about? Why I take the boys before my abductor can?"
"Enlighten us," Blaine said.
"The talk with the boys on the street didn't help. The speeches in all the schools didn't help. And always for the same reason: everyone thought that they'd be smarter than me if they were put in that situation. I met with the head of security at Kinks, a man named Gordon, and he flat-out told me that boys were still being taken. So I read up on sexual predators, learned how they operate. And one night, I tried it. I approached a high school boy who was being hit on, and pretended to be his older brother. Established trust right away. He took a drink from me within twenty minutes, and we were out of there less than five minutes later."
"So you bring them here in order to scare them straight?" Alex asked.
"Well, not straight," Ricky said. "I'm not trying to scare the gay out of them. I just want them to understand that yeah, they can end up in the same position if they're not smart about it."
Alex shook his head. "I don't know, man, that seems pretty freaking extreme. How do you know it even works? Didn't you say the guy is still taking boys?"
"Yeah, but not any of the boys I took. Those boys never come back. I can't save everyone, but I'm saving them, at least."
Blaine leaned forward. "But I don't understand; can't Kinks just ban anyone from leaving with an underaged boy?"
"Nobody seems able to figure out how this guy is able to leave with the boys. They aren't ever seen exiting the building – and with the boys being unconscious, you'd think someone would have noticed."
"So it's an insider," Alex speculated.
"Maybe. Maybe not."
"Was there any, uh–" Alex shifted uncomfortably. "Was there any, you know, evidence on you? When you were found? Anything that could trace back to the guy?"
Ricky stared back at him. "Are you asking about semen?"
"Well, yeah."
"Let's just say they were able to get more than enough samples of his DNA out of me," Ricky said dully, and the mood in the room changed perceptibly. The reality of Ricky's ordeal suddenly struck them hard, and even Alex looked sympathetic. "He's not in the DNA registry, though, and they can't just force everyone who goes into that club to give samples of their DNA."
"Have you ever seen him again, while you were there?" Blaine asked gently. "The news reports said that the Kinks security guards all have composite drawings based on your descriptions of your abductor–"
"Those reports were wrong," Ricky said. "The only thing the guards have is my description of what my abductor sounded like. He kept me blindfolded all the time. Never told me his name – just had me call him Sir. I met with Cincinnati police every few months, whenever they thought they had a new suspect, but it never did any good. How was I supposed to identify him? Have them all stand in a line and take turns calling me their princess doll?"
Kurt felt his blood run cold. "Wait, what?"
"That's what he used to call me," Ricky said, looking ill. "When he was... you know. If I didn't struggle, he'd praise me and call me his princess doll."
Kurt looked across the table. Jeff was staring back at him in horror.
