Starsky pulled the armchair near the bed, raising both hands, palms up to let Ken know he meant no harm.
Ken still glared at him and Starsky wanted to smile but kept a serious expression on his face.
"Who are you?" Ken demanded.
"Dave Starsky. I mean you no harm. I don't know how this started, but I found you in a roach motel, unconscious and in a bed. I brought you here."
"You didn't kidnap me?" Ken was still wary.
"No."
"Why . . . why would anyone kidnap me?" Ken wondered. "My parents are wealthy, but how would anyone know? I've only been here two weeks." He rubbed the back of his neck, still foggy from the sedatives.
"Kid, I don't know . . ." Starsky began.
"Ken," the blond interrupted. "My name is Ken."
"I don't think you were kidnapped for ransom," Starsky stated.
"Then why?"
Starsky hesitated. How would Ken take knowing about Sal and the reason he kidnapped him? Something of his thoughts must have showed in his face because Ken sat up straighter, alarmed.
"Please tell me why," Ken begged, his fear of not knowing greater than his dread of what Starsky would say.
Starsky sighed, not knowing where to begin. "Can you tell me what you remember?"
"I was . . . I was at a place . . . The Pits, I think. Someone recommended it to me – said they had great cheeseburgers. I . . I hadn't had one in a while, so I got one with fries and tea. It was great."
"Did you see anyone there?"
"Uh, a nice waitress, Beth Ann, I believe. And the owner – Huggy Bear. He thought I was too young to drink. I wanted tea, anyway."
"How old are you?"
"Nineteen. I'll be twenty soon."
Starsky nodded. "Gotta be twenty-one to be legal."
"Who cares about drinking? I want to know what happened to me!" Ken's voice rose in anger.
"And I'm trying to help you understand," Starsky said calmly.
"Did you see anyone that seemed, well, suspicious?"
Ken stared. "You sound like a cop."
'Bingo,' Starsky thought. He went on, "So do you remember anyone that looked shifty?"
"No, I . . . I was hungry. I concentrated on eating and the waitress, Beth Ann, she was very friendly."
"Did you leave the booth or table for anything?"
"I went to the men's room. I had managed to spill tea on my shirt when Beth Ann was bringing it to me. She left the glass on my table."
'Bingo,' Starsky thought again. 'And Sal drugged you. Took you back to the hotel. And if I hadn't opened the door to Room 301 . . .'
"You think someone at The Pits drugged and kidnapped me?"
Starsky nodded.
"Took me to the hotel . . . why?"
"Took a fancy to you."
Ken started to shake as the implications set in. "What did you see when you opened the door?"
"You were on the bed . . . wearing only your boxers. A man next to you, sitting on the bed, was also only wearing boxers. I threw him out of the room."
"Oh, no, no, no." Ken moaned. He became more aware of his body as he touched his hard-kissed swollen lips. He unbuttoned his shirt, staring in disbelief at the bite marks around his nipples . . .
Suddenly, Ken sprang from the bed, rushing to the bathroom, again staring at himself in horror in the bathroom mirror, shaking his head at the visible redness on his neck. He then fell to his knees and became violently ill, vomiting again and again, and then sat shivering and crying silently. He spotted a bottle of mouthwash and rinsed his mouth over and over, almost swallowing sips of it until the mouthwash bottle was empty. He then rinsed his mouth with water and splashed lots over his face and neck again and again and then rubbed the areas violently with a washcloth he spotted, his tears mingling with the water drops. He tore his shirt off and used the washcloth and water on his chest rubbing harshly over and over before collapsing on the bathroom floor. He kept saying, "No, no, no," as if trying to deny the horror of what had happened to him.
Starsky listened sympathetically, and after giving Ken a few minutes to absorb the terrible news, he gently opened the door, kneeling by the sobbing blond.
"Ken," he said gently. "Ken!"
The blond looked at Starsky through tear-filled eyes.
"He didn't rape you. He didn't rape you."
"How do you know?" Ken's voice quivered, "How can you be sure? He . . . he touched me, kissed me!" His voice rose in hysteria and he clutched Starsky's shirt tightly. "How can you be sure what he did and didn't do to me?" He was hyperventilating, gasping for air but he couldn't get his breath. Ken collapsed in Starsky's arms.
Dimly, Starsky heard a knock followed by the door opening and footsteps. "Dave?"
"In here," Starsky said softly, holding onto the blond.
Otter walked to the door and looked in. "Dave, what is going on?"
"Help me get the kid on the bed and I'll tell you. I want you to check him out for me, see if he needs to go to a hospital. This is Ken. He was drugged, kidnapped, molested and . . . possibly raped."
TBC