Chapter 2: A Night of Terror
The sun had set behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the forest. Melinda’s small house, nestled deep in the wilderness, was a haven of tranquility and isolation. The crickets had begun their nightly symphony, and the air was cool and still. Melinda sat in her living room, knitting a small blanket for her unborn child, her thoughts drifting to Panfilo in Saudi Arabia. She missed him terribly, but she took comfort in the knowledge that he was working hard to secure their future.
As she worked, a sense of unease crept over her. It was an instinct, a primal feeling that something was amiss. She brushed it off, attributing it to the loneliness that had settled in since Panfilo’s departure. She stood up, stretching her back and deciding to prepare for bed. She made her way to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, the wooden floor creaking softly under her feet.
Suddenly, she heard a noise outside. A rustling in the underbrush, followed by the low murmur of voices. Her heart began to race. It wasn’t uncommon to hear animals in the forest at night, but this was different. She felt a cold shiver run down her spine.
“Who’s there?” she called out, trying to keep her voice steady.
There was no response, only the continued rustling and murmuring. She moved to the window and peered out into the darkness, her eyes straining to see. The moonlight cast eerie shadows across the yard, but she couldn’t see anyone. 
Her breath caught in her throat as the front door suddenly burst open. Four men stumbled into the house, their eyes wild and bloodshot. The stench of alcohol and sweat filled the room, and Melinda’s heart pounded in her chest.
“What do you want?” she demanded, her voice trembling. “Get out of my house!”
The men ignored her, their gazes fixed on her with predatory intensity. One of them, a tall, muscular man with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward. He reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were cold and unfeeling.
“We just want to have a little fun,” he sneered, his words slurred.
Melinda’s blood ran cold. She took a step back, her hand instinctively moving to her swollen belly. “Please,” she pleaded. “I’m pregnant. Leave me alone.”
The men laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent chills down her spine. The scarred man reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her close. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, mingling with the foul odor of his unwashed body.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be gentle,” he said, his voice dripping with malice.
Melinda struggled against his grip, her mind racing with fear. She had to get away, had to protect her baby. She lashed out, scratching his face with her nails. The man roared in anger and slapped her hard across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor.
“Bitch!” he spat, wiping the blood from his cheek. “You’ll pay for that.”
The other men closed in, their expressions dark and menacing. Melinda tried to crawl away, but they grabbed her, holding her down. She screamed, but her cries were swallowed by the dense forest, unheard by anyone who could help her.
“Please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “Please, don’t do this.”
But her pleas fell on deaf ears. The men were like animals, driven by their basest instincts. They tore at her clothes, their hands rough and unforgiving. The pain was unbearable, and Melinda’s mind began to shut down, retreating from the horror of what was happening.
Hours seemed to pass, though it was likely only minutes. The men left her lying on the floor, broken and bloodied. Her body ached, and she could feel the life draining from her. She struggled to stay conscious, her thoughts turning to Panfilo and their unborn child.
“Stay strong,” she whispered to herself. “You have to stay strong for the baby.”
With a monumental effort, she pushed herself up, clutching her belly. She could feel the contractions starting, the baby coming early due to the trauma. She knew she didn’t have much time. She crawled to the corner of the room where her phone lay shattered, smashed by the men in their frenzy. Desperation clawed at her as she realized she couldn’t call for help.
She forced herself to her feet, leaning against the wall for support. The pain was overwhelming, but she focused on her breathing, trying to stay calm. She had to get to the bedroom, had to find something to help her deliver the baby. Each step was agony, but she moved forward, determined to save her child.
In the bedroom, she found a pair of scissors and some towels. She lay down on the bed, propping herself up with pillows. The contractions were coming faster now, each one a wave of excruciating pain. She gritted her teeth, trying to stay focused.
“Come on, baby,” she whispered. “You can do this. We can do this.”
Hours passed in a haze of pain and blood. Melinda felt herself slipping in and out of consciousness, but she kept fighting. She pushed with all her strength, her body screaming in protest. Finally, with one last, agonizing effort, she felt the baby slip free.
A tiny, fragile cry filled the room, and Melinda’s heart soared with relief. She cradled the newborn in her arms, tears streaming down her face. “You’re here,” she whispered. “You’re safe.”
But the relief was short-lived. She could feel herself growing weaker, the blood loss too much for her battered body to bear. She looked down at her son, his tiny face scrunched up in confusion and fear.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her vision growing dim. “I’m so sorry I can’t stay with you.”
With the last of her strength, she wrapped him in a towel and placed him gently on the bed beside her. She closed her eyes, her heart breaking with the knowledge that she wouldn’t be there to watch him grow.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Be strong, my little one. Be strong.”
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Hours later, the first light of dawn crept into the room. A local couple, Maria and Pedro, were walking through the forest, gathering herbs and firewood. They had heard the commotion the night before but had been too afraid to investigate in the darkness.
As they approached the house, they saw the broken door and felt a chill of foreboding. “Pedro, look,” Maria said, pointing to the door. “Something terrible must have happened.”
Pedro nodded, his face grim. “Stay behind me,” he said, picking up a sturdy branch as a makeshift weapon. “We don’t know what we’ll find inside.”
They entered the house cautiously, their eyes widening in horror at the sight before them. The room was a mess, furniture overturned, and blood spattered everywhere. In the bedroom, they found Melinda, lying still on the bed, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling.
“Oh my God,” Maria gasped, her hand covering her mouth. “She’s dead.”
Pedro stepped forward, his eyes drawn to the tiny bundle beside her. He gently picked up the baby, who let out a weak cry. “Maria, look,” he said softly. “It’s a miracle. The baby survived.”
Tears filled Maria’s eyes as she looked at the newborn. “We have to take him,” she said. “We can’t leave him here.”
Pedro nodded. “We’ll give him a good home,” he said. “But what about her?”
Maria looked at Melinda’s body, her heart aching for the young mother who had fought so hard to bring her child into the world. “We can’t leave her like this,” she said. “We need to bury her, give her some peace.”
Pedro agreed, and they worked together to wrap Melinda’s body in a sheet. They carried her out into the forest, digging a shallow grave under a large, ancient tree. They placed her gently in the ground, covering her with earth and marking the spot with a simple cross made from branches.
“Rest in peace,” Maria whispered, tears streaming down her face. “Your baby is safe with us.”
They returned to the house, gathering what few belongings they could find for the baby. As they left, Pedro glanced back at the house, a sense of foreboding settling over him.
“We should burn it,” he said quietly. “It’s a place of sorrow now. Better to let it go.”
Maria nodded in agreement. They set fire to the house, watching as the flames consumed it, reducing it to ashes. It was a symbolic act, a way to honor Melinda’s memory and ensure that the horrors of that night would not haunt the land.
As they walked back to their own home, the baby cradled in Maria’s arms, they felt a sense of responsibility settle over them. They had taken on a great burden, but they would do everything in their power to protect and raise the child.
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Meanwhile, in Saudi Arabia, Panfilo’s phone buzzed with a message from a friend back home. He read the words, his heart sinking. The house had burned down, and Melinda was nowhere to be found.
“No,” he whispered, his hands trembling. “This can’t be happening.”
He tried calling neighbors and friends, desperate for information, but no one knew where Melinda was. Panic set in, and he felt a crushing sense of helplessness. He had left her alone, and now she was missing.