Chance Encounter

by Oksana

translated by Olga

It was night, and Mark still had not come home. Mary did not know what to think. She checked on the child and tugged him in, and then cuddled in a plaid in the sofa's corner. What would she do, and how would she get out of here? Mary looked round the room which had been her prison for two years already.

Two years of a nightmare… Mary gave a start when the reminiscences flooded over her.

When she came to her senses in hospital after the big letter ‘C' had hit her, Mark was with her. It was strange. Mary could have sworn that when she was losing consciousness it was Mason who was holding her in his arms. She could remember his begging voice, full of desperation and tears. And then it all went blank.

After many questions Mark told her everyone considered her dead.

“Oh God, oh no!” cried Mary in despair.

“I won't let you go,” said Mark grimly, with frenzy. “Don't you even hope for this. You'd better give in.”

Mary was too weak to resist. With the help of drugs Mark was taking care that she should stay in this state as long as possible.

In a month Mark took her away unexpectedly. He took her to a small town in 50 km from Las Vegas.

In the little house all the windows were blocked, and all the doors were shut securely.

“You just try to get out!” Mark threatened her with menace. “I can find you anywhere! You're my wife!”

Mark found a job as a doctor in the local clinic. When he was leaving he would shut the door, and there was no phone in the house. Mary was roaming the house, dreading the return of her prison keeper. But soon she made sure that, for some unknown reason, Mark was not going to take advantage of her physically. The sadistic pleasure of keeping her within seemed enough to him. Mary tried not to annoy him. She would cook and patiently listen to his musings how happily they would live together, she would try not to object, but her only dream was to break free and to get to Mason. She feared to think how much he had suffered when he was sure she was dead.

But Mark kept an eye on her and gave her no chance whatsoever. Soon fleeting seemed impossible: the baby within her was growing, and Mary's belly was getting bigger making her movement very awkward.

“The baby's mine,” Mark repeated in frenzy, and Mary did not object. “We'll have a real family!”

Mary hoped to break free when the time for the delivery came. But Mark brought her to the clinic where he worked, and succeeded in persuading the colleagues that his wife was out of her mind because of the lying-in. As a result, no one would listen to Mary and they would not let her use the phone.

The first glance at the newly born son was enough to convince Mary it was Mason's baby. It could not have been different. The little boy had delicate, elegant hands with long fingers, dark thick hair, brown eyes with thick eyelashes and a birthmark looking like the state of Florida on his right hip. Mary remembered the birthmark so well!

“Matthew,” she whispered, hugging the baby to her and breathing in his scent with pleasure. “Mark, let's call him Matthew. Please.”

“Matthew McCormick.” Mark appreciated the sound. “Ok, I don't mind it. Let him be called Matthew, it goes well with the surname.”

Mary praised God that Mark and Mason had the same blood type and brown eyes. In other respects the boy was like any other baby. Mark had no reason to doubt his paternity, and he would repeat ever and ever again that his son was his copy. Mary did not say anything because she was afraid he might hurt the baby otherwise.
She hoped that parenthood would soften Mark and she would enjoy more freedom, and would find a chance to elope. Then she would only have to get to Mason, and it would all be over.

But her hopes were smashed cruelly. In two weeks after Matthew was born, Mark came home and threw a newspaper in her lap.

“See, he's forgotten you! He doesn't need you! See for yourself!”

Mary took the paper timidly and froze. It was a Santa Barbara newspaper announcing that ‘yesterday the wedding of Mason Capwell and Victoria Lane took place.' Below there was a picture, and she could see Mason hugging a woman quite strange to her, both were smiling.

Mary gasped with a pain that suddenly shot through her breast. Noticing this, Mark grinned, “What did I say to you? Your praised Capwell! I'm the only one who needs you!”

Mary swallowed the tears and nodded, “Yes, of course.”

There was the only thought pulsing in her head. “Mason got married. He got married.” He did not need her any more, he did not need her.

Like before, Mary was being kept prisoner in the house all day long. Sometimes Mark would take her and the baby out in the park, and they looked a normal family to anyone's eye.

Now that she had Matthew she did not feel so depressed and scared. The boy made her stronger. He was growing fast, and he was unbelievably smart and quick. Fortunately, Mark thought the boy was too small for him to interfere with Matthew's upbringing, and Mary was very glad for this.

Mary was looking at the sleeping boy and involuntarily gave a tender smile. He was only 18 months old, and he would chat away incessantly already, “just like his father,” Mary thought sadly. When he got surprised, his little eyebrow would lift, just like Mason's, and when he was angry, his sullen look from under the brows made you feel uneasy. It was unfathomable how well Matthew would copy his father without seeing him once!

The only thing Mary feared was that Mark would notice this sooner or later, and then they both would not be the better of for this. She had to think up something quick, she had to elope, but how? Where?

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