The grainy surveillance footage, now seared into the collective consciousness of a grieving nation, plays on a loop across news channels and social media: a young woman, full of dreams, stabbed to death in the fluorescent-lit confines of a Charlotte light-rail train. Iryna Zarutska, a 23-year-old Ukrainian refugee whose radiant smile lit up every room, was brutally murdered on August 22, 2025, in a random act of violence that has left America reeling. For her aunt, Halyna Kovalenko, the pain is personal and unrelenting. “My beautiful niece Iryna was butchered on that train,” Halyna says, her voice trembling through tears in an exclusive interview with this reporter. “That video… it’s torn our hearts apart, and now we’re living in fear, wondering who’s next. 💔”

The horrific clip, first leaked to the public on September 5, 2025, shows Iryna’s final moments aboard the Lynx Blue Line, a symbol of Charlotte’s urban connectivity turned into a stage for tragedy. As she sat texting her boyfriend, Decarlos Dejuan Brown Jr., a 34-year-old homeless man with a history of violent crime and untreated schizophrenia, lunged from behind, plunging a folding knife into her neck. The nation watched in horror as blood sprayed across the train car, Iryna’s hands clawing futilely at her attacker. But it was Brown’s chilling taunt, recounted by eyewitness Jamal Thompson—“Sleep tight, little girl. That’s where the real monsters come out”—that transformed this crime into a nightmare etched in America’s psyche. Now, Halyna and her family, both in North Carolina and Ukraine, live in the shadow of fear, haunted by the loss and the looming threat of further violence.

Iryna’s story began far from Charlotte’s bustling streets, in Kyiv, Ukraine, where she was born into a world increasingly scarred by war. In 2022, as Russia’s invasion escalated, Iryna, her mother, and siblings fled to the United States under humanitarian parole, settling in Huntersville, a quiet suburb north of Charlotte. With a degree in art and restoration from Kyiv’s Synergy University, Iryna embraced her new life with fierce determination. She worked long hours at a local pizzeria, flipping dough with a smile, while studying English and freelancing as a graphic designer. “She was our sunshine ☀️,” Halyna recalls, clutching a photo of Iryna sketching at a family picnic. “She’d draw these beautiful landscapes—Ukrainian fields, American mountains. She said they reminded her that hope could bridge any distance.”

That hope led Iryna to the Lynx Blue Line that fateful night. After a 10-hour shift, she boarded the train at Scaleybark station around 9:45 p.m., heading home to Huntersville. It was a routine ride, one she’d taken countless times, texting her boyfriend Stanislav about plans for a weekend date. The train, with its open seating and sparse security, carried about 50 passengers—families, workers, students—unaware of the danger among them. Brown, a Charlotte native with 14 prior arrests for armed robbery, assault, and theft, slipped onto the train without a ticket, his red hoodie and vacant stare unnoticed in the evening crowd.

The attack, captured in stark detail by CATS surveillance, unfolded at 9:58 p.m. near Camden Road station. Brown, driven by untreated mental illness and a history of substance abuse, stood abruptly, muttering to himself before lunging at Iryna. The knife pierced her carotid artery, a fatal wound that left her gasping as blood pooled on the floor. Defensive marks on her hands told of her desperate fight, but within seconds, she was gone. Passengers screamed, some frozen, others scrambling for the exits. Thompson, a 29-year-old software engineer seated nearby, described the scene as “something out of a horror movie.” Brown’s chilling pause after the act—turning back to stare at Iryna’s body, smirking, and delivering his taunt—has become a focal point of public outrage, amplified by the viral video.

For Halyna, a 47-year-old nurse who fled Ukraine with Iryna’s family, the footage is unbearable. “I can’t watch it,” she says, her hands shaking as she sits in her modest Huntersville apartment, surrounded by Iryna’s sketches taped to the walls. “That monster took her from us, and now the world sees her last moments over and over. It’s not just grief—it’s violation. 😞” Halyna, who became a surrogate mother to Iryna in America, describes sleepless nights, haunted by the fear that another random attack could strike her family. “We came here to escape violence,” she says. “Bombs in Kyiv, now knives in Charlotte. Where is safe? I check the locks three times a night now.”

The family’s fear is compounded by the aftermath. Brown was apprehended at East/West Boulevard station minutes after the attack, blood still on his hands. Federal charges, including first-degree murder and a hate crime against immigrants, were filed on September 9, potentially carrying the death penalty due to the crime’s brutality and interstate implications. Yet, the slow grind of justice—Brown’s trial isn’t until January 2026—leaves Halyna’s family in limbo. “We want him gone, but we’re terrified,” she admits. “His family lives here. What if they come after us for speaking out? We’re just refugees trying to survive.”

This fear isn’t abstract. Social media platforms like X have exploded with threats against Brown’s relatives, who have publicly disavowed him. “He’s not our son anymore,” his mother told local media, citing his mental illness. But the online vitriol has spilled over, with doxxing and harassment targeting anyone linked to the case. Halyna’s family, already visible due to their GoFundMe raising $200,000 for Iryna’s repatriation and memorial, has received anonymous messages warning them to “stay quiet.” “We’re scared to leave the house sometimes,” Halyna confesses. “Iryna’s story is everywhere, but it makes us a target. 🕯️”

The video’s virality has only deepened their dread. Shared millions of times under hashtags like #JusticeForIryna and #CharlotteTrainHorror, it has sparked both solidarity and chaos. Vigils in Freedom Park draw hundreds, with candles spelling out Iryna’s name in Ukrainian script, but they also attract true-crime fanatics and opportunists. One X user, with 100,000 followers, posted the footage with a sensational caption: “Watch the moment a monster destroys a dream!” Halyna calls this “exploitation.” “They don’t know Iryna,” she says. “They don’t know she loved sunflowers, that she’d sing Ukrainian lullabies to my kids. They just see blood.”

Iryna’s life, as Halyna paints it, was a tapestry of resilience and joy. In Ukraine, she was the family’s dreamer, sketching war-torn Kyiv’s beauty amid air-raid sirens. In America, she embraced every opportunity: barbecues with neighbors, dance nights with friends, and quiet evenings designing logos for local businesses. “She wanted to open an art gallery one day,” Halyna says, showing me a digital sketch of Charlotte’s skyline on Iryna’s tablet. “She’d say, ‘Auntie, America lets me dream in color.’ 🌈” Photos from Iryna’s Instagram, @IrynaArtDreams, show her at Carowinds amusement park, laughing on rollercoasters, or cooking borscht for roommates. Her romance with Stanislav, a fellow refugee, was blossoming; they planned a trip to the Grand Canyon next spring.

That vibrancy makes the video’s brutality harder to bear. “She wasn’t just a victim,” Halyna insists. “She was our heart. Seeing her reduced to that moment—it’s like losing her twice.” The family’s fear extends beyond retribution. As refugees, they feel exposed in a nation grappling with anti-immigrant sentiment. Recent political rhetoric, including former President Trump’s comments at a Raleigh rally calling for Brown’s execution, has heightened tensions. “We’re grateful for the support, but it also paints us as outsiders,” Halyna says. “Some comments online say, ‘Go back to Ukraine if you want safety.’ How do you respond to that? 😣”

The case has ignited a firestorm of debate. Charlotte’s CATS system, criticized for lax security, faces a Government Accountability Office probe. Advocates like the National Network to End Domestic Violence highlight the vulnerability of immigrant women, often targeted in public spaces. “Iryna was alone, working late, riding a train,” says Dr. Lena Hargrove, a forensic psychologist consulting on the case. “Her profile—young, female, foreign—made her a target for someone like Brown, whose mental illness and violent history were a ticking bomb.” CATS has since added cameras and patrols, but Halyna scoffs: “Too late for Iryna.”

Brown’s defense, led by public defender Carla Ruiz, argues diminished capacity due to schizophrenia, citing his lack of treatment and homelessness. Prosecutors, led by U.S. Attorney Rachel Kline, counter with evidence of premeditation—Brown carried the knife habitually, and his taunt suggests awareness. “This wasn’t just a random act; it was malice,” Kline told reporters. The trial promises to be contentious, with Thompson’s testimony central. “I can’t unsee her eyes,” he told me, his voice low. “Or unhear him. I’m scared to testify, but I owe it to her.”

The family’s fear is palpable in their daily lives. Halyna’s children, ages 10 and 12, no longer ride the bus to school; she drives them, scanning the streets warily. Her husband, a construction worker, checks in hourly. “We’re always looking over our shoulders,” she says. A neighbor’s anonymous note, left in their mailbox—“Watch your backs”—has them considering relocation, though funds are tight. The GoFundMe helps, but repatriating Iryna’s body to Ukraine, where funerals are disrupted by war, is daunting. “We want her buried in Kyiv, with her grandparents,” Halyna says. “But even that feels unsafe now.”

Community support offers some solace. A mural of Iryna, based on her sketches, adorns a South End wall, sunflowers blooming around her portrait. The pizzeria renamed a dish “Iryna’s Special,” donating proceeds to refugee aid. Friends like Ulya, who shared a viral tribute video, keep her memory alive. “She was my sister in spirit,” Ulya told me, showing a clip of Iryna dancing in the rain. “We’re scared, but we won’t let fear silence her story. 🌟”

Yet, the video’s relentless circulation—reposted with captions like “Monster on the Loose!”—fuels their anxiety. “Every share feels like a new wound,” Halyna says. “I want people to know Iryna, not just her death.” She describes Iryna’s last call, hours before the attack: “She was excited about a new art project, said she’d show me after work. Now, I’ll never see it.” The family plans a private memorial, but public attention makes privacy elusive.

Nationally, Iryna’s case has sparked soul-searching. True-crime podcasts dissect the footage, while editorials debate mental health funding and transit safety. Ukrainian diaspora groups in New York and Chicago hold solidarity vigils, but even these draw hecklers. “We’re caught in a storm,” Halyna says. “We want justice, but we’re scared it’ll cost us more.” The trial, with its potential death penalty, looms as a double-edged sword—closure, but also a spotlight that could inflame tensions.

As Charlotte’s autumn deepens, the Lynx Blue Line runs quieter, its riders more vigilant. Halyna avoids it entirely, driving past stations with a shudder. “I see her face everywhere—on the news, in my dreams,” she says. “We’re living in fear, not just of Brown, but of a world where this can happen. Where monsters hide in plain sight.” Her voice breaks as she holds up Iryna’s sketchbook, open to a drawing of a train under a starry sky. “This was her America. Now, it’s our nightmare. 🖤”

For Halyna, Olena, and their family, the fight for justice is personal, but the fear is universal. As Brown awaits trial, and the video continues to haunt, Iryna’s memory endures—not as a victim, but as a dreamer whose light refuses to fade. “We’ll keep her alive in our hearts,” Halyna vows. “No video, no monster, can take that away.”