by Captain Sammitch
the train:
An accountant was heading to JFK for his weekly business flight to Chicago. He borrowed the boombox from the sleeping kid next to him and turned on the news.
...unexpected end to this extremely intense manhunt. The shootout in Central Park prompted the suspect's attempt to escape, unfortunately, a collision with a police cruiser caused the vehicle to crash into the Hudson, apparently with no survivors.
For those who are just joining us, we've received news from the NYPD and paramedics that the Unidentified Man, now known to be an amnesiac metahuman named Phil Smith, and his passenger, twenty-two year old NYU student Gabriela Riviera, both died last night when the Ford Explorer in which Smith was fleeing police crashed over an embankment and into the Hudson. Although paramedics state that no bodies have been recovered from the accident, NYPD sergeant Robert Gant and detective Richard Patterson, who witnessed the accident, maintain that neither Smith nor Riviera were able to escape the vehicle before it sank beneath the Hudson.
It's a bizarre ending to a very unusual case that has captivated the attention of New Yorkers for nearly a month now. Smith was wanted in conjunction with the murders of fifteen members of a gang of Colombians linked to numerous kidnappings across the eastern seaboard, but he has also been credited with the rescue of eleven girls between the ages of twelve and fifteen. The girls had been abducted and subjected to severe sexual abuse, which was captured on film and used to make extremely disturbing child pornography films. It appears that Phil Smith was not so much a serial killer as a misguided vigilante whose attempts to rid the city of a group of evil men simply went too far...
"I'll say," the accountant said to the people sitting around him. "If the guy had just stuck to rescuing those girls, he woulda been a hero."
"Hey, man, dude was a hero," a big man in denim overalls protested. "He stuck up for the innocent people and went after the bad guys. Like Batman or something."
"This isn't a comic book," the accountant said snidely. "We've got laws around here for a reason. We can't have these self-proclaimed heroes going around and killing people."
A well-dressed black man in his late twenties shook his head. "I would have to disagree. While my firm has had to defend several so-called vigilantes in recent years, Phil Smith does strike me as truly heroic. He had no connection to any of the kidnappings, yet he risked his life to rescue those who couldn't save themselves."
"I don't see it," the accountant said.
Next stop, JFK International, the intercom buzzed.
"The guy should have minded his own business," the accountant insisted. "We've got the authorities to deal with that."
"The trouble with our society," the lawyer argued, "is exactly that - the idea that we ought to only look after ourselves, and let the authorities try and solve all our problems. What made this country great in the past was that even though society seemed to either overlook or actually support great injustices, such as the slavery and mistreatment of my ancestors, there were still distinctive individuals who were willing to oppose society and do what they felt was right. There's no question that the white abolitionists who made the Underground Railroad were breaking the law. They stood in utter defiance of the government, in fact. But were it not for their willingness to do what was right even in the face of the law, then I probably wouldn't have become what I am today." The black man shook his head. "Personally, I think that this city will suffer from the loss of Phil Smith, and individuals like him."
The man in overalls nodded. "This world could use a lot more guys like Phil Smith, if you ask me."
The train pulled into the station, and the accountant headed for the door. "You people have some amusing ideas," he said gruffly as he exited the train.
"I thought it was very insightful," another man told the lawyer as he headed for the door. "Maybe Phil Smith was just ahead of his time." He smiled as he walked out the door. "Have a nice day."
The lawyer smiled as Phil Smith walked off the platform and into the airport. Maybe there was hope after all.
Leslie
Now this had been a pointless mission.
The flight into New York had been delayed yet again when JFK had temporarily suspended all flights because of the hunt for the Unidentified Man. Even after landing, Leslie's flight had sat on the tarmac for forty minutes. And then the word had come in that the Unidentified Man was dead. Dead - not from some epic battle with the FBI but from a ridiculous car wreck.
Leslie had spent the night in the hotel by JFK, and now she was back at the airport, waiting to catch a flight out of town. She had almost reached the ticket counter when her phone beeped.
"Yeah?"
It was the Russian on the other end. "Do not be so quick to leave, Elsiya."
"Have you been watching the news?" Leslie asked. "They keep saying he's dead! You want me tracking down a dead man?"
"Please, please, Miss Kline," the voice said mockingly, "you do not think that someone as accomplished as Phil Smith would let himself die in an automobile accident, do you?"
"It's hardly my concern."
"He's alive, Miss Kline, which means that he is still your concern."
"There's no way he's gonna still be in this town," Leslie protested.
"Then you will have to search for him," the Russian insisted.
"I don't know why I put up with this," Leslie snapped as she hung up.
"Something wrong?" a voice asked from ahead of her. Leslie turned. It was a guy of average height, in his twenties, with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes. "You seem frustrated."
"Well, I am," Leslie complained. "I can't find someone I'm supposed to be looking for."
The man laid a hand on her shoulder. "I know exactly how that is," he said soothingly. "Don't worry. If you look hard enough, you'll find them." He turned back to the counter and received his ticket. "Have a nice day." He smiled and headed for the concourse.
Leslie smiled as she watched him go. That guy sure was nice.
And she hadn't even gotten his name...
Phil
It was nice to see that there was a chapel in this airport. Phil stepped inside and found it empty. No matter. He slowly moved toward the altar and sat down on the front pew.
"God..." he started. "I'm not really used to doing this, so I'm sorry if I ramble and stuff. I need help, and I know that you're the only one who can help me."
Phil sighed. "I'm really sorry for everything I've done. I was trying to do something good, and I really messed it all up."
Have you? a little voice inside asked. You saved eleven people, after all.
"But I killed guys," Phil protested.
And you acknowledged that what you did was wrong, and you told Me you were sorry. I accept that.
Phil was getting frustrated. "But... but Gabi died because of me."
You do not know that.
A tear ran down Phil's face. "She moved me out of the car before it sank. I don't see how she could have survived."
The little voice didn't answer.
"Is it possible," Phil asked, "that Gabriela might still be alive?"
No answer.
"God," Phil asked, "what should I do?"
You know what you should do. You know who you are.
Phil's jaw dropped. "I don't! I have no idea where I'm from or how I have these weird powers. I don't know what I'm here for or anything."
You know I made you. And you have decided to do what is right regardless of the consequences. Therefore, you may have lost your identity, but it is very simple to know who you are. And more importantly, you know now that I am with you. Do not be afraid.
Phil sighed. "Then what should I do now?"
Only you can decide that.
Phil stood up slowly. "I'm going somewhere far away. And I'm going to try and find out who I am. And I promise that I'll try to do what's right no matter what." Phil looked down. "I know better than to trust in myself now. I'm afraid, but if You go with me, then maybe it'll make things a little easier."
Phil slowly walked out of the chapel. He didn't have any luggage or carry-ons, so the trip through security was pretty quick, as Phil had abandoned all his weapons.
Except for one. He just couldn't part with the .44, so he packed it in a lead-lined case and shipped it ahead of him, hoping it would be waiting for him when he arrived.
Phil did have a few things on his side. His wallet had remained untouched by the water, so the few bits of information he had gotten in his search for an identity were intact.
And it helped that he still had the number and code for the six million dollar Swiss account that Roberto had given him.
Phil reached the KLM counter and checked in. "Good to see you," the lady at the counter said. "We were just about to start boarding."
"Timing is everything," Phil said with a smile.
"It sure is," the lady replied. She picked up the intercom. "Attention all passengers, attention all passengers. We are now ready to begin boarding for KLM Flight 7867, with non-stop service to La Perdita."
Phil started for the jetway with his boarding pass. "Have a nice day," he said to the counter lady.
"Thank you, sir," she replied. "And enjoy La Perdita."
"I intend to," Phil said. "I intend to."
EPILOGUE
Fourth Precinct
Things were almost back to normal. The FBI and MAW agents had packed up their things and left, and the command center staff had been returned to their respective precincts.
But two weeks after that wild Thursday night, not everyone in New York had forgotten about the Unidentified Man.
Robert Gant sat in his office chair reading the memo regarding Patterson's promotion. He smiled and looked at the framed certificate on the wall that commemorated his own promotion a week ago.
There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Gant said.
The door opened, and in walked Patterson. "Morning, Rob," the detective said. "Looks like I got my wish."
Gant nodded. "Looks like." He put the memo down. "So... you leaving now?"
Patterson shook his head. "I think I'll wait until four or five. I'm gonna miss this place, and it helps to have one last day of work here."
"Helps me too," Gant said. He sighed. "Nine years, and it's over."
"Not really, Rob," Patterson said. "This is your precinct now, so if you can get the allocations from the city, you'll be able to keep this place running without me." He looked around. "But I am gonna miss this place a lot."
"I'll still be at the picnic," Gant said jokingly.
Patterson laughed. "Too bad our last case together had to be closed on pretty meager evidence."
Gant shrugged. "The city didn't want the controversy to get out of hand. There were already people who were starting to think that Smith was some kind of hero. Closing the case gave us closure and put down most of the people who thought Smith was still alive."
Patterson frowned. "Rob. You know as well as I do that Phil Smith didn't die in that wreck."
Gant nodded. "You know that, and I know that, but what can we do?"
Patterson chuckled. "You were the one who was so quick to tell everyone Smith was dead." He thought a moment. "You let him go, didn't you?"
"Did I?" Gant thought about it. "I had it all wrong. I was convinced that Smith was a threat to everyone, that he wouldn't stop killing people, that he just used the Colombians as an excuse. But he saved us all in the garden that night, and he stopped that maniac Fisher from carrying out his plan."
"Not really," Patterson argued. "Fisher and the MAW just went underground, that's all. Publicity is bad for shadow agents. You know that. Hall had him before the Executive Director, but Fisher apparently has friends in very high places. He got out with a slap on the wrist." Patterson shook his head. "I don't know who he's got behind him, and I really don't wanna find out."
"It doesn't matter," Gant said. "Smith wasn't the real enemy. He was just lost, trying to find out who he was." Gant looked out the window. "I see that guy as someone who has potential to be a real hero. Not like the characters in the comic books. A real living, breathing person who knows what's right and wrong and won't hesitate to do whatever is in his power to see that justice is done. He's a metahuman, after all. They're the future, Rick, no matter what people like you or me or Fisher have to say." Gant sighed. "Maybe someday, he'll give me a reason to be glad I let him go."
"It's possible," Patterson agreed. "Phil Smith is no ordinary person. He's no ordinary metahuman, for that matter. Not from what I knew of him. There's a chance that one day Phil Smith and people like him may be all we have to depend on." He looked out the window at the people walking up and down the sidewalks, at the traffic on the busy streets, at the city of New York going about business as usual. "I just hope that day doesn't come any time soon."
the Turnpike
After about an hour of waiting by the road with her thumb out, she was finally rewarded. A blue pickup truck slowed to a stop on the service lane next to her. "Where you headed?" the driver asked.
"Where are you going?" she asked him.
"Baltimore," he answered.
"Sounds fine." She hopped in the truck.
"So why is a pretty girl like you hitchhiking around Jersey?" the driver asked.
"Actually," she said, "I'm trying to find someone."
The driver frowned. "A man?"
"Sort of," she replied. "I've been looking for him for a while."
The driver sighed. "Hope that works out."
"Thanks."
"Anytime." The driver looked at the highway signs. "We should be in Baltimore in about five or six hours."
"Thank you."
A tear formed in her eye as Gabriela Riviera stared out the window, hoping against hope that she might find Phil Smith somewhere out there.
La Perdita
"But I wouldn't linger around Puerta Mibela too long if I were you."
Phil listened to the words of the native cab driver half-heartedly. He paid the man and headed across the street to the post office.
After spending two weeks in the hotel on the beach, Phil had wasted enough time. He had heard quite a bit about a team of metahumans that lived somewhere in Puerta Mibela, and he had glimpsed a UFO flying over the island last night. Things were getting a bit too weird for him.
He still hadn't quite gotten over the pain of losing Gabi. Maybe that hurt would never go away. Phil's confidence in himself and in everything he knew had been shattered. All he had left was himself - and God. Of course, having the Creator of the universe on your side was pretty reassuring no matter what had gone wrong for you.
But Phil knew that it was highly unlikely that he would ever regain what he had back before he met Mike Flannery. All the bravado, the confidence, the ability to keep a cool head no matter what went wrong, that was a lost chapter in his life, and he didn't know if he'd ever get that back.
But it was just something he'd have to live with. But this team of metahuman heroes, now that was something to look into. It was possible that they might be able to help him find Gabriela, if she was still alive by some miracle. Maybe they might even be able to help him find out who he was.
Or, quite possibly, they might not take too kindly to him. Phil wasn't really sure how they might react to him. But he didn't need to borrow trouble. He didn't know what would happen, and he had no idea what lay ahead of him. But even though he still hadn't unraveled the mystery of his identity, he knew who he was.
He was Phil Smith, the Unidentified Man.
THE END