Locket full of Secrets (18 page)

              I did my best to ignore the sting of the wind as we ran. It was the least of my worries. Not long after we began our run my legs began to hurt and my lungs felt like they were going to explode. Running was not something I did very often. Turning between houses at Olena’s lead, I willed myself to go on, knowing the importance of what we were going to uncover. Finally, just as I was certain I could not take another step, Olena slowed to a stop in front of a house at the end of the street we had just finished running down.

              The house before us was small and all but identical to the home next to it. The paint on the shutters and front door were a dark gray, matching much of the surroundings. The one thing that stood out, however, was the yard gnome next to the front porch. Its plastic had retained enough color to stand out amongst the weeds and dead bushes.

              Murmuring something to herself, Olena slowly walked up the front steps and pushed open the warped door. Its hinges creaked loudly but opened all the same, allowing the three of us entry to the tiny home. Steven and I followed Olena, our eyes taking in the worn and battered house around us.

              The living room, much like the outside of the house, was devoid of color. The remaining furniture was broken and covered with years of dust and grime. What looked to be old family photos lay broken on the ground, many of the images almost completely destroyed over time. I noticed in one less damaged photo a man and a woman smiling for the camera. Without a child with them, I could only assume this was not where Olena grew up. We were likely walking through Uri’s house.

The kitchen presented more of the same gray scenery. Everything looked like houses back in Ohio, just worn down and covered in dust. For some reason I expected things to be packed or stored safely. But without a warning everything was left as if a family was planning to return, but never got the chance. This continued on in each room we entered and each hallway we walked down. Finally, we entered a small bedroom, broken wood littering the floor. Staring at it for a moment I could feel the breath catch in my throat when I realized what I was looking at.

              “This was a crib,” I whispered, shocked to think Uri was killed despite having a young child. “You never said Uri had a child.”

              “He did not,” Olena replied, kicking the wood out of the way so she could walk to the closet. “My aunt was four months pregnant when the explosion happened. The radiation was too much for the baby to keep growing.”

              Olena did not continue the story, but I did not need her to. I could imagine what followed. A wife, mourning the loss of her husband, forced to mourn the loss of her unborn child, thanks to the accident that took her husband as well. I could feel tears welling in my eyes but blinked them away. We had too much at stake for me to get emotional now.

              “Here, give me a boost,” Olena said to Steven after she had entered the small closet.

              Going to her side Steven lifted Olena enough for her to reach the boards above her. Pushing on its surface, what appeared to be a normal part of the ceiling shifted to reveal a small storage space. It had blended in enough that anyone who stopped at the house over the years to deprive it of valuables would not have known to check for it.

              After moving the square of wood aside Olena pulled herself up with her hands, forcing Steven to hold her feet for support. Watching the two of them, I was convinced Steven was about to drop her when Olenas feet disappeared as she climbed completely into the crawl space above.

              Moving to stand next to Steven, I counted how long Olena was gone. Much sooner than I expected, she shooed us with her hands before climbing back out of the space. She did not bother to put the trick door covering back where it was found. As she turned to face me I saw what we had come for. In her hand was a small metal lock box.

              Running her fingers over the box I watched silently as Olena set it down then removed the locket she had given me for safe keeping years ago. It had always bothered me that I could not open it, so my jaw dropped as Olena twisted it in her hands. Turning the top of the locket that connected it to its chain, I watched as Olena unscrewed the hook that connected the locket to the chain, pulling it apart to reveal a key that had been hidden inside the entire time. With a deep breath, Olena used the tiny key to open the lock box.

Peering over Olena’s shoulder I held my breath as she began pulling the contents of the box out one at a time. Tears rolled down her cheek as she pulled out first a family photo I could only assume was of Olena and her parents. Turning it over she read the back, where a note was left for her to find. Next she pulled out a few letters, some labeled to Olena while others were labeled to Katarina and Gevorg and other names I did not catch. Then, once the other items were removed, Olena picked up the film canister, a smile growing on her face.

“The film,” I gasped. Despite hearing so much about it, seeing it for the first time was still a shock.

Nodding, Olena inserted the film into the camera then handed it to me. I slipped it around my neck without question as Olena handed the letters to Steven. She then closed the lock box and slid it into the closet before shutting the door. Putting the key back into the locket, she put it around her neck once again.

“Time to go,” Olena said simply to us before turning and walking back out of the house. Any sign that she had been crying has suddenly vanished.  

Part of me was shocked we were already heading back, but then I remembered; we only had 40 minutes for this side trip on our tour. Stepping out of the house I blinked a few times, not believing what I was seeing. Not only did we have to race back, it was starting to snow now. Taking a deep breath I let it out slowly before heading after Steven and Olena, who were already jogging back to the bus.

Olena began to slow her pace once we were still blocks from the bus. She pressed her body to the building next to us, causing Steven and I to do the same. We crept along the building, turning each corner after quick peeks around it. It seemed like it was all for nothing, but then again I was new to the world of sneaking through a dead city.

After what felt like an hour, we finally were back where we started. Standing in the alley we had first turned down, Olena peeked around the corner before her shoulders finally relaxed. Watching her begin to calm down was all the sign I needed. We had made it back before the tour group and we had a chance to catch our breath before we were going to have to rejoin everyone.

“How are you feeling?” Steven asked, moving to stand next to me and placing one hand on the small of my back.

“Tired,” I nodded, glad it covered my state due to the running and also for my fake sickness. “I think I will sleep nice and good tonight.”

“We should go sit on the bus for a while,” Olena suggested, her breathing back to normal. “It is getting a little too cold to be good for you now.”

My body was still warm from the run, but the snow was starting to fall harder and harder. The ground was coated in a thin layer of white, and more was still coming down. Our breath puffed out around us, still much harder than if we had been sitting for the last stretch of time.

As Olena turned the corner to head back to the bus I followed her, my eyes down and on the camera. It would not be long until we could finally develop the photos and see the truth that got Uri killed. With my eyes down I did not see Olena had stopped, but rather bumped into her. Steven’s hand suddenly gripped my arm. His grip was much too tight to simply steady me for running into Olena. Looking up, I understood instantly.

Standing before us were two men, both holding guns pointing our way. I allowed my eyes to glance behind them and noticed a car parked next to the bus, hidden from view when we had peeked moments earlier. The tour had still not arrived, but when they returned it was clear we would not be waiting as planned.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I took a step closer to Steven, my eyes trained on the open end of the guns pointed at us. It took me a moment to realize the men were speaking, their fast words lost on me completely. They were both massive, their muscles showing even through their wool coats. Although they were both tall, one had to be close to seven feet tall, his spiky black hair making him look even more intimidating. His partner had a shaved head that bulged with muscles I was not aware most people even had. What I noticed more than that, however, was a scar that traveled from the corner of his eye down to the edge of his jaw.

While they spoke I tried hard to catch what they were saying, but only caught a few words. As they spoke about Chernobyl, Pripyat, Uri, and even Olena I began to notice that Steven was edging in front of me, creating a barrier between me and the loaded guns. Finally, I stepped behind him, clinging onto his hand and also the camera on my neck. Unfortunately, this step was a big enough motion to get the men’s attention away from Olena and onto me.

Olena and the men exchanged words quickly, her tone angrier with each sentence. It was clear they wanted the photos, but at the same time were not going to kill us just yet. They glanced over their shoulders every now and then, as if trying to hurry things along before the tour group returned. Finally, the bald man stepped closer to Olena and swung his gun out, striking her in the temple with its cold hard metal.

“Olena!” I screamed as Steven held me back, knowing that getting closer would just mean getting hurt. Then two men laughed as Olena rose from the ground, blood seeping from her now wounded forehead.

As she stood, Olena’s hand brushed her pocket and what I had assumed to be maps fell to the ground. Lying on the snow-covered earth I could see they were actual photos of the Chernobyl plant peeking out of a manila envelope. Before Olena could grab them, the same man that had hit Olena scooped them up from the ground. While the two men flipped through the photos Olena began to cry and shout at them. It was clear she wanted them to believe that these were the real photos. Steven released me now to hold Olena back.

The blond man let out a chuckle, muttering a few more words to Olena before lifting his gun to her head, his finger poised on the trigger. Steven and Olena instantly froze. It was clear that now that they had the photos, we were no longer needed alive. Reaching out to grip Stevens’s arm I stepped closer to him as the other gun was raised to point my way.