Small Farming Village outside Kyiv, USSR
3rd August, 1968
"Оксано? Ти тут?" Anton called, swinging open the door of the small cottage. He stepped tentatively into the house, calling softly out to his sister.
No one had seen Oksana in two days, since the violence at the Sunday market, and Anton had grown worried. His boots crunched on broken glass as a sick feeling grew in his stomach.
The fire in the hearth had burnt out days ago. The furniture was in disarray, much of it broken. The beautiful crockery she had lovingly displayed in the cabinets lay in worthless shards on her kitchen tiles. There was a drying pool of what was probably blood on the floor of the living room, but he couldn't bear to look any longer.
He burst back out into the front garden, gasping for air. His older sister was gone. No doubt, she had been taken by the same people who had been terrorising their village for months. Sometimes they requisitioned supplies, sometimes they forced people to go and work their land or in their factories – their stories were never consistent. But at the weekend market, when everyone from miles around gathered at their humble marketplace to sell their goods, they had made their biggest show of strength yet. Several military vehicles rolled up, depositing a handful of soldiers into their midst. They followed a man clad in all black but for an elaborate metal gauntlet or sleeve, though some claimed his arm itself was metal.
They beat aside farmers and shoppers, men and women alike, seeking out seemingly random people and hauling them back into the trucks, ignoring their cries. Nobody could say where they were taken, but if it was wherever the others had gone, it was unlikely they would return.
Whether these people worked for the government or not, no support was forthcoming, and the situation seemed that it would only worsen over time.
Anton forced himself upright. He thought of his wife and his little Halina. He had a family to look after, and he determined to keep them safe. Their sleepy village and prosperous orchard could no longer offer them the safety they deserved.
With a deep breath, he resolved to set aside his grief over his lost sister and friends, and make plans.
Plans to take them far away from here.
Strasbourg, France
19th March, 1985
Halina looked over her shoulder, pulling her coat around her as she hurried through the streets. She couldn't see anyone looking at her with particular interest, but nor could she shake the feeling that she was being watched. Followed. It had been three days now, and she couldn't work out what was wrong.
Maybe she needed to get her head checked out.
Normally, a young woman, uneasy walking through the city streets after sunset, would breathe a sigh of relief upon arriving home. It wasn't the night or the city making the back of her neck prickle though. It was something so much harder to define, and it followed her into her building, upstairs and into her flat.
Throwing her bag and jacket on the armchair nearest the door, she headed straight for the kitchen. Perhaps a warm cup of tea or the calming voice of her parents could help her relax. She set the kettle to boil and dialled home, breathing deeply and reminding herself that there was nothing to be afraid of, no indication that anything was wrong, really.
"Так?" came her mother's gentle voice down the line.
"Мамо, це я," she replied, clutching the phone to her ear tightly, as though it could bring the same comfort as her physical presence.
"Oh, my little Halina! How is the job going?" she asked excitedly.
Halina pressed the phone between her ear and shoulder, pouring hot water carefully into her favourite mug. "Good, good. I'm really fitting in there, Mama," she said, tossing her teabag in the bin.
"Oh, that is wonderful news. When are you coming back to visit? I know your тато wants to show you the work he's done on the garden," she said ruefully. The village in which the little family had lived since arriving in France when Halina was just a girl was an hour away from the city by car, and several towns over from the nearest train station.
She laughed, a little breathlessly. "Tell him I can't wait to see it. Maybe I can finally relax if I stay there for the weekend," she mumbled.
"What's that? Is life in the big city too stressful for you, sweetheart?" she fretted.
Halina bit her lip as she spun in a circle to unwrap the phone cord from around her body, which always got tangled when she made something while on the phone, probably because of a poorly thought-out kitchen arrangement. How to tell her mother than she might be going crazy, and if not had a stalker. A really sneaky one.
As she twirled, something out her window caught her eye. On the top of the building across the street, which was a floor higher than her own three-storey building, what looked like a person up on the roof. They quickly ducked out of view.
Maybe it was a bird. A trick of the fading light. A maintenance man on an urgent call.
Maybe it was a highly proficient stalker.
"I've just had this weird feeling, for the past few days… like I'm not alone. Like I'm being watched. I know I'm being silly, but…" she trailed off, still staring out the window, trying to catch another glimpse of the figure on the roof. If anyone had been there, they were gone.
"If you think someone is following you, call the police! What if it's some pervert who knows you live alone! Please, Halina, I know you've lived there for a while but you shouldn't get complacent with these things," she rambled, her voice steadily climbing the octaves.
She laughed weakly, trying to reassure both herself and her mother. "I'm probably just a little tired. I'll go to bed early tonight, and I'll come visit on the weekend. There's no reason for someone to be following me," she soothed, tipping her untouched drink down the sink.
"I really think…"
"Don't worry, Mama. If I see something concrete, I'll call the police. I think I'm going to get ready for bed. До побачення, Мамо," she said, barely waiting for the response before hanging up.
She had a quick piece of toast to tide me over until tomorrow morning, then quickly got ready for bed, practising breathing exercises until she finally fell asleep.
Strasbourg, France
20th March, 1985
The feeling hadn't gone away. As Halina left the office, she felt it swell, setting her stomach churning. Fighting down panic, she scanned the street. There were people walking around, largely in suits as the returned home for the day. She started her nightly trek back to her cosy apartment, hands involuntarily clenched into fists and shoulders bunched.
Waiting at a set of traffic lights, she happened to look up at the right rooftop to see a dark figure peering down into the street, the last rays of the sun catching on his gleaming left arm, completely covered in silvery metal. Her heart nearly stopped the moment she saw him, proof that she wasn't imagining things. But as she stared, and he seemed to gaze impassively back, she felt bile rising in her throat, accompanying sheer terror that came straight out of her memories of her true home.
That day, she had skipped along behind her mother and father, clutching a favourite toy soldier and length of ribbon she happily waved behind her. They were running late to the market, since there had been a problem back at the orchard – something about baskets? She couldn't remember, she'd been so young. They were down the road when the brutal men came with their guns and took people away, striking anyone who dared to protest. The screaming, panic, and heartbreak were not so easily forgotten. People she had known were kidnapped that day. Including her Aunt Oksana, probably, though the mysterious soldiers had made a special trip to take her from her house.
She remembered the man who cut through the crowd, sidling through the market with vicious malevolence, breaking bones and throwing tables laden with produce aside to reach his victims.
The man with the metal arm.
Tato had moved them west a few weeks after that, and they had heard no more of the disturbances since leaving the area. Seen nothing more of those men, those uniforms, that cold violence.
The people waiting with her surged across the road, jostling her. She lost sight of the man on the roof for a moment as she stumbled. The suited man apologised as he passed, but she ignored him, staring at the empty rooftop.
Where to go? A police station? She wasn't sure that the gendarmes would be able to protect her, and what would she even tell them? Yes, hello, I saw a man on the roof and he looked like someone I saw when I was four years old in the Soviet Union. Please arrest him and give me a bullet-proof vest.
As her thoughts raced, she walked home out of habit more than a conscious decision. She found herself standing in front of the door to the upper stories, the ground floor being taken up by a clothing store.
It seemed likely that the man was after her, come to take her like he took her aunt. She didn't know what she had to offer him, but it was too big a coincidence for her to brush off. He must already know where she lived, so there was no harm in going inside, surely. She had already led him there before.
Coming to a decision, she quickly unlocked the door, slamming it shut behind her and sprinted madly up to the second floor, unlocking her door with shaking hands as quickly as she could. She fell into her living room, wrenching that door shut too.
The curtains were drawn from last night, and she didn't bother turning on the main light as she dashed to her kitchenette. She dived for the phone, punching in her parents' number as quickly as the adrenaline pumping through her veins would allow, flicking on the nearby light as she waited for someone to pick up.
A useless tear ran down her cheek and she battled to calm herself. Maybe she was imagining the man. Maybe he just looked like the figure from her nightmares. Maybe she wasn't about to die.
"Allo, c'est Anton," her father greeted in his accented French.
Halina was so anxious her words were a jumble of French and Ukrainian, but she hoped he would understand despite the constantly switching. "Tato, it's me. I saw the man. From home, the village. The man with the metal arm. Tato, I'm so scared, he's following me. He's after me, he's going to kill me. What do I do?" she sobbed hysterically.
Her father's agitated voice started asking questions she didn't hear, because a noise behind her made her whip around, pulling the phone away from her ear.
The man sat stock still in her armchair, regarding her without emotion. Panicked tones came through the speaker, adding a muted soundtrack to the scene.
Still shrouded in shadow, he stood, kicking aside a wooden end table as he approached her. He looked exactly the same. Long brown hair fell over his face, much of which was covered by a black mask. The heavy stomp of boots and swing of his shoulders made the screams of the villagers ring in her ears.
She didn't have a chance, really. He was between her and the door, but it was impossible not to try. Letting out a bloodcurdling scream, she threw the phone to the floor and ran for the door.
The man lunged for her. The hand not covered in metal, but only a black leather glove, caught her by the throat, cutting off her cry with a brief gurgle. He held her off the ground at arm's length, dead eyes watching as the light faded from her desperate ones and her legs stopped kicking.
Everything was black and cold.