Echoes in the Static: The Chilling Voice Message in Iryna Zarutska’s Final Hours
CHARLOTTE, NC – September 20, 2025 – In a revelation that has sent shockwaves through an already grieving community, Stas Nikulytsia, the boyfriend of slain Ukrainian refugee Iryna Zarutska, publicly confirmed tonight that he received a haunting six-second voice message at precisely 9:01 p.m. on August 22—the night she was brutally murdered on a Charlotte Lynx Blue Line train. The audio, which Nikulytsia shared in a tearful live stream to his 45,000 X followers, captures a deep, male voice uttering the words, “Don’t look back,” in a tone described by listeners as “coldly detached, like a predator’s warning.” What makes this fragment so gut-wrenching? It’s not Iryna’s voice. Her familiar, soft Ukrainian lilt—trembling perhaps with exhaustion after a long shift—is absent. Instead, the gravelly timbre belongs unmistakably to a man, sparking immediate speculation: Was this a sinister prelude to her death, sent in a desperate bid for help? Or something far more ominous?
The message, timestamped just 49 minutes before Iryna’s fatal stabbing at 9:50 p.m., has been dissected by millions overnight. Shared across X, TikTok, and Reddit, it has amassed over 12 million plays in hours, with users poring over spectrograms, accents, and background noise for clues. “This isn’t her. That’s a man’s voice—low, calm, almost scripted,” tweeted user @jessielyn1128, whose post praising a train hero garnered 1,492 likes before pivoting to the audio’s eerie disconnect. Forensic audio experts, volunteering their services via online forums, agree: The pitch and timbre point to a male speaker, aged 30-40, with no signs of digital manipulation. No heavy breathing, no panic—just those four words, delivered with chilling finality. As one viral thread notes, “If this was Iryna forwarding a threat, why no scream? Why no context? It feels like the last thing she hit send on before the knife.”
Nikulytsia’s confirmation came during an emotional X Space hosted by supporters, where he replayed the clip for the first time publicly. “I got this while I was cooking dinner, waiting for her to come home,” he said, his voice cracking over the digital hum of 2,000 listeners. “She’d texted me earlier: ‘Heading home soon, love. Can’t wait.’ Then this… I thought it was a glitch, maybe spam. I even replied, ‘Babe? Everything okay?’ No response. By 10 p.m., police were at my door.” The message arrived via their shared messaging app, a private thread filled with heart emojis, inside jokes in broken English, and plans for her upcoming driver’s test. But this outlier shattered the normalcy. Attached to no text, no image—just the raw audio file, labeled “voice_901pm.wav” by the app’s auto-naming.
As the clip spread like wildfire, so did the questions. Iryna, 23, had boarded the train around 9:45 p.m. after closing at the pizzeria, her uniform still dusted with flour. Surveillance footage shows her settling into a seat, earbuds in, oblivious to the danger lurking nearby: Decarlos Dejuan Brown Jr., the 32-year-old with a rap sheet longer than the Blue Line itself. But the voice message predates her boarding by over 40 minutes. Where was she at 9:01? Walking to the station from work? Already on an earlier bus? Nikulytsia speculates she might have been en route, perhaps noticing someone tailing her. “She was street-smart from Kyiv—bombs teach you that,” he shared. “Maybe she recorded it herself, or grabbed her phone from a stranger’s hand to send proof.”
Online sleuths have latched onto the phrase “Don’t look back,” drawing parallels to urban legends and true-crime tropes. On X, threads exploded with theories: Was it Brown, lurking in the shadows of uptown Charlotte, hissing a taunt before the strike? His prior 911 call, ranting about “man-made material” invading his body, painted him as paranoid and volatile—could this have been a twisted manifesto moment? Or, darker still, some whisper of a stalker unrelated to the arrest, a ghost from her refugee journey. “This isn’t random. That voice knew her routine,” posted @sovey_X, whose heartfelt tribute to Iryna’s vulnerability racked up 3,449 likes and hundreds of replies echoing the sentiment. Skeptics, however, smell fabrication. “Sounds too cinematic. Why would a killer narrate?” countered @inkedtater in a post questioning the calm delivery. Others, like @_hawkeyed, dismissed it outright: “Made-up story. Doesn’t even sound like a 22-year-old would speak.” Yet, Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department hasn’t dismissed it; a spokesperson confirmed the audio is “under forensic review” as part of the ongoing murder investigation, though no links to Brown have been established.
For Nikulytsia, the message is a lifeline and a curse. The 26-year-old software engineer, who met Iryna at a Ukrainian cultural event in 2023, has become an accidental advocate. Their relationship, a whirlwind of shared borscht recipes and late-night sketches, was documented in heartwarming reels—her laughing as he butchered Ukrainian phrases, him surprising her with sunflowers. “She was my tomorrow,” he said in the stream, clutching the notebook police found in their apartment, its final page torn and optimistic: “I’ll be fine tomorrow.” Now, that void feels prophetic. The voice message, he insists, was her final act of defiance. “She wanted me to know. To remember.”
The public’s reaction has been a torrent of empathy laced with fury. By midnight, #DontLookBackForIryna trended nationwide, with 1.2 million posts. Celebrities like actor Mark Ruffalo reposted the clip, captioning it, “This is the sound of a system failing women. Demand answers.” Vigils popped up at the 36th Street Station, where chalk outlines of sunflowers marked her last stop. Women shared their own transit horror stories: the leering glances, the unsolicited whispers. “I clutch my keys like weapons now,” one Redditor wrote. “Iryna’s voice—wait, not her voice—haunts me.” Mental health advocates, too, weighed in, noting the message’s eerie calm could signal escalation from Brown’s documented delusions.
Yet amid the digital deluge, cracks in the narrative emerge. Some X users flagged the audio’s metadata: It originated from Iryna’s phone, but the recording app shows no prior drafts. “Forwarded? Hacked? Or a cry for help gone wrong?” speculated @gaye_gallops in a post memorializing Iryna as “somebody’s daughter,” which drew 991 likes and calls for transit reform. Conspiracy corners of the platform veer wilder: Was it a warning from Ukrainian contacts, tying back to her father’s frontline service? Or, baselessly, a staged element to fuel anti-immigrant sentiment? Fact-checkers have debunked the latter, but the void left by the message’s ambiguity amplifies every theory.
As dawn breaks over Charlotte’s skyline, the city feels heavier. Iryna’s family, scattered by war—mother and sister in a Raleigh suburb, father dodging drones in Kyiv—joined Nikulytsia virtually for a prayer circle. “That voice stole her last words,” her sister Olena said, her screen glitching with tears. “But it won’t silence her fight.” GoFundMe campaigns, already at $250,000 for Ukrainian refugee safety nets, surged another 20% post-revelation. Local lawmakers, pressured by the viral storm, announced emergency funding for Blue Line mental health patrols.
The six-second clip ends abruptly—no fade, no echo, just silence. Like the torn page in her notebook, it’s unfinished, a blank space begging for justice. “Don’t look back,” the man intones, but millions are doing just that—rewinding Iryna’s story, refusing to let her fade. For Stas, it’s a daily torment: He replays it, searching for her in the static, wondering if those words were for him, for her, or for the killer who ensured she’d never turn around.
In a world of fleeting notifications, this one endures—a cold echo demanding we listen closer, protect fiercer, remember longer. Iryna Zarutska’s tomorrow never came, but her warning, borrowed or not, rings eternal: Look back. Learn. Act.
