Patreon Exclusive - "Scents" - Part 3

The news is enough to provide Sally with renewed clarity. A chilled understanding of what will happen if she stays in the bedroom and chats with the monster behind the locked door.

What can she do? Sally tiptoes away from the door and looks around the room. Frantically at first, and then methodically, as if her future might just depend on it.

“Addy?” the woman calls out. “Are you getting changed now, honey? It’s getting late.”

Sally doesn’t reply. If Mrs. Johnson wants a response, she can open the door and get it that way.

There’s only one door. Only one way out. And then Sally looks across at the window on the other side of the room. They’re upstairs, but Sally is willing to take her chances climbing down or jumping, if the other option is being gassed into imbecility.

They are poisoning her. They are hurting the very best part of her. The reason her mother – her real mother – is so proud. She holds her breath, and for a few seconds she finds relief, feeling clearer than she has since she entered the bedroom. But that feeling is soon replaced by a pressure in her lungs, a growing need to take a deep, gulping breath of oxygen.

The hissing sound seems to grow louder. Is that just Sally’s imagination or are the Johnsons losing patience?

Red-faced and verging on panic, Sally looks up and finds an HVAC duct in the ceiling. It’s half-way between the door and the window.

Stay away from the vent.

If this was a fire, if there was smoke, what would she do?

Sure that her lungs are ready to burst, black pricks appearing in her vision, Sally reaches for the blanket sleeper and covers her mouth and nose. And in the moment before she inhales, Sally wonders if the outfit is simply soaked in the same chemical as the gas.

The feetie pajamas may as well be like a chloroform rag.

Her body demands oxygen and when Sally breathes, she is relieved to find that the outfit doesn’t smell of cherries, Sally keeps her face covered and then gets down on her hands and knees.

Think. Just like a fire. The vent is on the ceiling, so whether the gas rises or not, stay as close to the ground as possible.

Feeling clearer than she has in minutes, Sally looks around the room, glancing at the [toys] and the [doll]. Stay away from the toys, and stay the hell away from Mrs. Johnson.

“Addy? Addison, sweetie? How’re you doing?”

Sally doesn’t respond. Instead, she creeps and shuffles on her knees, trying to keep her face covered before giving up and holding her breath again, scooting as fast as she can over to the window and dragging the pajamas behind her, ever conscious of how much like an overgrown toddler she must look.

The sleeper over lower face once more, Sally gets to her feet and pulls at the window latch.

It’s stuck. No, it’s locked. Sally sees where the key should go. Of course it’s locked. For safety and security. And for keeping the mentally regressed captive from escaping.

She can’t help shouting, “Just let me out! Come on!”

Mrs. Johnson responds immediately. “Not until you’re sweet as sugar, Addy.” The woman’s voice is heavy with indulgence. As if she really is Sally’s mother, and as if Sally really is a misbehaving toddler.

Sally bangs on the window with her fists. She’ll break the glass, she’ll take a chance, because what other choice does she have? To just submit, to be the Johnson’s little pet?

You look kinda fierce.

She punctuates her words with blows on the window. “I’m not Addy…I’m Sally! And you’re gonna let me out, god dammit!”

Mrs. Johnson responds, but not to Sally. A murmured conversation from the hallway, presumably to her husband. What’s she saying? Send in the SWAT team? Or The girl’s crazy, let’s just let her go…

Neither, as it turns out.

The window stays intact, and Sally feels a sob rise in her chest. Because she’s a smart girl, but she’s just a teenager on her first babysitting job, and none of this was in the job description.

A bitter laugh escapes her mouth. For her application, the babysitting app ran her against both the sex offender database and the terrorist watch list. Maybe they should do the same for the parents.

She slides back down to the floor, and in the moment before she puts the sleeper back over her mouth, she is surprised by a tremendous sudden hiss beside her, like the angriest of snakes.

Copperhead, Sally thinks in a blinding flash of panic. Cottonmouth, diamondback. She lives in a state where snakes are common. Most are harmless, and some are not. But none of them pose as great and sudden a risk to Sally’s health than the real source of the hissing.

She looks down and spies the floor vent by the wall just as it blasts a rush of cool air into her face. Except it’s not air. There’s something in it. A sweet smell, like fruit. So much more than before, an overwhelming rush that is inhaled and absorbed in little more than a moment.

Before Sally can turn away, she feels a wave of relaxation flow through her body, and her arms and legs feel rubbery. The blanket sleeper falls from her hands, and she is left on her hands and knees, her face bathed in the cherry gas.

Tears fill her eyes and then roll down her cheeks as she blinks at the cooling, stupefying air.

The panic has left her body. Any creative thoughts of escape have left her mind.

Just keep breathing in the happy gas…it’s going make you all sweet and innocent for Mommy.

Just like that, as if her mind has been covered by a blanked as soft and fuzzy as her new pajamas, Sally feels her understanding dim. She fights against it, gritting her teeth, as she tries to remember just what she’s doing on all fours, gazing down at an air vent.

She’s on a job…because she’s a big girl, she’s looking after a baby. She’s here to watch-

“Addy?” calls Mrs. Johnson.

With a great force of will, Sally turns her head and looks towards the door. Where Mrs…the name fades from Sally’s shrinking mind. She looks to where the bad lady is.

“Stop!” Sally cries out weakly. “Stop…being mean!” She doesn’t sound forceful anymore, she is not a rebel. Now, she sounds more like a sulking little girl. One who would use better words if they all weren’t so busy leaking out of her ears.

The woman produces a laugh that is filled with relief. “It’s okay, honey. You’re going to feel so nice! And once it’s done, we can go to the beach every day! You like the beach, don’t you. You can build sandcastles with Daddy!”

Sally feels an idiotic smile betray her, because she does like the beach, and she does want her daddy, and then she shakes her head.

“I don’t wanna! You’re dumb!” Even as her once sharp mind dims further and she becomes distracted with thoughts of the pretty bathing suit she saw in the closet. The watermelon one. So cute. Sally likes watermelons. Sally likes the beach.

She blinks slowly, her mouth hanging open.

Where’s Daddy? Where’s Mommy?

An answer to the second question arrives with perfect timing. “You want Mommy open the door now?”

Sally imagines having the door open. Isn’t that what she’s wanted from the beginning? Because then she will feel better. She’ll get a cuddle from the lady, for sure. She remembers the camel-colored dress. The lady is pretty! And she’s a hugger. And she said that Sally should call her Mommy, which is an easy name, which makes all kinds of simple sense, because as Sally’s bladder relaxes and she wets herself, Sally is sure that she needs someone kind to take care of her.

Sally nods her head, and then, through the sticky glue of her brain, she understands that she has to say something.

“Uh…uh-huh!” She nods more enthusiastically, and with no regard for her diction, says, “Oh-puh doah!”

“Are you ready to be a sweet little girl for Mommy, Addison?”

More nodding, and Sally grunts with enthusiasm. “See giwl, moh-mee!”

The door opens, as if by magic, and Sally greets the woman in the doorway by clapping her hands with glee.

Mrs. Johnson beams at her. “There you are! There’s my happy girl!” She opens up her arms. “Come to Mommy, Addy.”

Addy. The name isn’t quite right, but Sally understands the instruction all the same. She crawls urgently to the woman, saliva dribbling down her chin as she babbles at the woman.

“Moh-moh-moh-mee!”

The only thought in Sally’s reduced mind is one of delight, followed by relief when she is wrapped up in her captor’s arms. She gazes into the woman’s face and giggles.

“That’s my happy girl,” says Mrs. Johnson, covering Sally’s damp lips with kisses. She looks Sally up and down and says, “You had a little accident, Addy, Mommy’s gonna clean up you and get you in your jammies, okay?”

Sally doesn’t try to follow the sequence described by the woman, but she does follow the gaze down to her crotch, and sees the source of the wetness. Sally had an accident, but that’s okay. Mommy’s going to clean her up.

Ever helpful, Sally relaxes in Mrs. Johnson’s arms and points back to the window. “Jammies, moh-mee.”

“I see them, honey. Gonna get you all clean and cozy, and then Daddy will read you a story.”

Sally puts a finger in her mouth as she attempts to process the information, and then she just smiles. She likes stories. She loves her daddy.

“Up you get,” says the woman. She removes Sally’s clothes and wipes her clean, before dressing her in a diaper and the fuzzy pink feetie pajamas.

Brushing Sally’s hair, Mrs. Johnson says, “Sorry to get you so mad earlier, honey. It’s just that the gas works much better if you’re taking those big, gulping, angry breaths.” She puts down the brush and kisses the girl’s cheek. “And you’re not mad any more are you. No, you’re happy as a lark.”

Sally responds with a nod and a glassy-eyed expression. In her pink pajamas, she is the very picture of youth and innocence.

“Let’s get you tucked in,” says her new mother. “And don’t forget your doll!”

Sally accepts Florelle with an open-mouthed smile, clutching the doll to her chest. She strokes Florelle’s silky hair and breathes in the delicate scent of cherries.

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Palma Ceia, Tampa FL

The search for the missing girl has been called off. Sally is assumed, by the investigation into the contents of her phone found in the mother’s abandoned Honda, to have run off with a creep in his twenties. It’s a sad story that’s played out across America.  There are millions of teenage runaways every year. It’s hard to keep up. It’s hard to pay attention. And so the media, and the police, move on.

Addison toddles along the beach, holding Daddy’s hand.

It’s May, and it’s warm. It’s Florida, after all.

Any beach visitor might glance at Sally’s swimsuit and think her dressed rather immaturely. If they did more than glance, they might spot the bulge of Sally’s swim diaper, and then hear her cheerful babble, and there would be doubt that she’s anything other than a child with a significant intellectual disability.

Addy doesn’t worry about that. She is too busy to worry about anything, busy with building sandcastles. She is occupied by scents – Daddy’s cologne, her Aveeno sunscreen, the salt water. She doesn’t smell cherries until bedtime.

In her one-piece swimsuit, pink with black dots and a green frill, she is dressed like a watermelon, which is not as good as cherries, the scent still filling her bedroom at night to keep her mind docile and tamed, but still a cute look. A cute look for the youngest of girls, of course.

“Honey,” Sally’s mother calls to Daddy. “I think I’ve found one. She might…well, she might just be perfect.”

Daddy and Addy join Mommy on the striped beach blanket and the parents look at Mommy’s phone while Addy busies herself with her empty bucket. She is happy to fill it with sand, but in truth she’s content to fill it with anything. Pebbles, snacks, Florelle’s accessories. She sits cross-legged, the bucket between her legs, and then empties the bucket out, nodding at her progress while the grown-ups talk.

“Maybe,” Daddy says, stroking his chin.

“Definitely,” says Mommy. “It’ll be even better this time. Not so messy.”

They look down at Sally, and Mommy uses her sing-song tone to ask their daughter, “Are you filling your bucket, sweetie? Are you making it all full?”

Addy looks up at the people who reduced her to idiocy and nods. “Fih-win up, moh-mee!”

Mommy beams back at her. “Clever girl.” She holds the phone out so Addy can see the photo. “Isn’t she pretty? She’ll play with you.”

Addy nods, her head bobbing like a kite on a string. “Priddy!”

Daddy laughs. “It’s settled.” He looks at his wife fondly. “Let’s book it for tomorrow night.” He pulls Addy into his arms and taps her playfully on the nose. “You want a sister, Addison, you can have one. Whatever my princess wants.”

THE END

Sally arrives for a baby-sitting job, but where is the baby? And why are the parents so eager for Sally to 'make herself at home'?