Season 09 Episode 17: Unsettled Dust

stories you hear on the show. But it's also a home for something more personal, my fiction, my strange amusings, and the odd fragments that don't belong anywhere else. Search for Richard McClain smith on substack, or go to Richard mcclainsmith dot substack dot com to find out more and subscribe. If you'd like a little bit more of me and Unexplained in your week, join me on substack and let's

keep exploring the unknown together. New writing most Tuesdays. It was a crystal clear autumn morning in Manhattan, the sunlight glistening off the waters of New York Harbor. The previous day had been foggy and oppressively humid, the culmination of a day's long heat wave. Thunderstorms had raged throughout the evening and into the night, with heavy rainfall pelting the city. But on that morning of September eleventh, two thousand and one, New Yorkers woke up to cobalt blue skies and a

forecast promising sunshine all day. It felt like a fever breaking, not that doctor Ron Lieberman took much notice. It was still bleary eyed when his alarm went off and had to use every ounce of willpower not to hit the snooze button. Last night, he'd met up with friends after a twelve hour shift of the emergency room and didn't get home until after midnight night. As Ron rolled over, he could immediately feel that the other side of the bed was empty. His wife, Sneehart, I hadn't come home last.

Ron wasn't surprised when he'd arrived home to find the apartment empty. Sneehart had had a few days off from work and had planned to go out that evening. She was free spirited, spontaneous, and had a lot of family and friends nearby who she could crash with after a night out, So Ron wasn't especially concerned. If anything, he was a little annoyed. He'd asked Sniehar a few times now to always call if she was going to stay

somewhere else, and she promised that she would. In any case, Ron didn't have time to dwell on it, since he was due back at the hospital at eight a m. For a morning meeting. As an intern fresh out of medical school, his schedule was relentless, and so he quickly showered, got changed, and fed the kittens. He had just enough time to pour some coffee into his thermos before heading

out the door. As he rode the elevator down to the lobby of his building, he was still half asleep, and then he was outside, feeling the revitalizing effects of the crisp autum Ayre. Ron and Sneehart lived in Battery Park City, at the southernmost tip of Manhattan. Living so close to the water and being able to look out at the Statue of Liberty on a clear day was one of the things they loved most about the neighborhood.

As he walked briskly over to the subway to catch an uptown train, Ron had no idea just how often he would end up looking back on this morning, all the small details he'd recall, the face of the street vendor selling sweeps and magazines, the whistling sound of a train pulling in below ground, the impossible Cobalt sky, the last moments of normalcy before everything fell apart. You're listening

to Unexplained, and I'm Richard McLean Smith. On the morning of September tenth, two thousand and one, sneehar and Philip had the day to herself as a medical inter This was a rare luxury, and she planned to make the most of it. With her husband Ron having left for work, she made herself a leisurely breakfast and spent a while playing with the new kittens they'd just adopted. She dug into all of the long overdue chores on her to

do list. She tidied and deep cleaned the entire apartment, put on a load of laundry, and repotted the orchid which sat in the living room window. In the early afternoon, she sent a message to her mother and Sue to see if she fancied a video call. Her mother lived a couple of hours north of the city in upstate New York. The family had moved there in the early seventies from Kerala in India. Sneehart and her mother were

close and talked most days. Once they started chatting, it was hard for them to stop, and that afternoon was no exception. Sneehart told her mother about her upcoming plans and reassured bared her that all was well at work. Her cousin Annu was coming to stay with her later in the week, and she was excited to show her the city. They had a table booked at Windows on the World, the famous restaurant at the top of the North tower of the World Trade Center, offering jaw dropping

three hundred and sixty degree panoramic views of the entire city. Finally, at around four pm, Sniehar told her mother that she had to go and run some errands. She waved goodbye and then signed off. Some time later, after finishing his shift at the Jacobi Medical Center in the Bronx, Ron went out for drinks with an old school friend. Though it was great to catch up, he ended up staying a bit later than he'd planned. At just after ten pm, with his eyelids starting to feel heavy, he called it

a night. As he settled into a seat on the fore train. Ron wondered, not for the first time, if they should reconsider living so far downtown. Battery Park City made sense for them when they'd first moved there, but now he worked all the way north in the Bronx, it meant having to commute the full length of Manhattan every day. Even if the trains were running well, it was an hour and a half each way. By the time run finally arrived home, it was close to midnight.

Almost falling asleep on his feet, he said a quick good night to the dorman at the front desk and rode the elevator to the ninth floor. He opened the door to a dark, silent apartment. When he turned on the light, he heard the kittens mew, followed by the soft pad of their paws as they came rushing out to greet him. But Sneehar wasn't home. Ron checked the answering machine, but there were no messages. It wasn't entirely surprising.

It was still relatively early in going out terms. It could be some time before Sneehar finally got back in. Even then, she might end up crashing at her friends. If anything, At that point, he'd rather she didn't call and wake him in the middle of the night. Thinking little more of it, he fed the kittens, brushed his teeth, then climbed into bed. He was asleep within minutes. The next morning, he woke to find that Sneehart hadn't come

home at all. Ron, still a little irt that she hadn't been in touch, arrived at work just in time for his eight a m. Meeting. It was a morning report where one of the medical interns presents a stand out case from the previous night's admissions. Ron was silently thankful it wasn't his turn to present. He still felt exhausted, and he made a mental note to avoid Monday night

drinks in future. When the meeting ended at nine, he headed straight for the break room to get a coffee, but something in the corner of his eye made him pause. An unusually large crowd of people were gathered in the waiting room, all staring up in silence at the TV in the corner. Ron walked over, curious. On the screen was a skyscraper on fire, its upper floors engulfed in flames.

It took him a moment to recognize it as the North Tower of the World Trade Center, and then, after a moment, he finally tuned in to what the newsreader was saying. A passenger jet had flown directly into the tower. Is this real? He asked a colleague, struggling to process it all, But every one else was just as stunned and clueless.

wouldn't connect. Ron felt nausea creeping up from the pit of his stomach. He in Snehar's apartment, was just a couple of blocks from the World Trade Center. This was happening on their doorstep. Walking a little away from the crowd, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Sneehar didn't have a mobile, so he pressed speed dial one to call home. He felt a rush of relief as the call connected and started to ring as normal, But the

ringing just continued, and his relief quickly curdled. Wherever Sneeha was, it seemed she still hadn't made it home. Just as Ron was in the middle of leaving a voicemail, he heard a collective cry from the waiting room. He spun round just in time to see the slow motion replay on the TV a second plane flying directly into the south tower. Ron stared, uncomprehending. Black smoke corrupted from both towers,

now enveloping their upper floors. The room around him was now eerily silent, shock settling over every one like a smothering blanket. Alongside the horror of the sight. Everybody was quickly coming to the same realization. This was no accident, but Ron couldn't think about the wider implications right then. All he could think about was Sneehart. With the incongruous disaster playing out right in front of him. His mind suddenly began to race. Had she set out for home

and got caught in the fall out down town? What if she'd stopped round there to get a coffee or something and been hurt. He hadn't even tried to find her that morning, He called home again and again, willing snel hard to pick up. He left message after message, as if the sheer volume of them would somehow make a difference. He called Sneha's mother and Sue, trying to keep his voice calm, he asked if she'd heard anything from her daughter. No, she said, explaining that she'd last

spoken to her the day before. Then it hit Ron that he hadn't actually spoken to his wife in twenty four hours. He felt paralyzed by indecision. His immediate instinct was to get back downtown by any means necessary, to get closer to the last place he knew she'd been. But the rational part of his brain said stay in place. For one thing. The city was now on knockdown. Subway services were suspended, and roads would likely be closed too. Ron was also a doctor at work during a mass

casualty event. Even though Jacoby was a long way from the Twin Towers, casualty numbers were estimated to be in the thousands, and every hospital in New York was on stand by to help handle the demand. So Ron had little choice but to just stay where he was and pray that Sneehart would get in contact with him soon. It was just over an hour and a half later that he and by now millions across the globe watched in horror as the twin towers collapsed in a humongous

cloud of debris. He tried in vain to imagine the damage downtown and how many more people must have been hurt or killed by falling glass, steel, and masonry. He kept calling home, but still no one picked up. Soon his calls stopped going through altogether. The mobile network went down, maybe overwhelmed by calls or damaged in the attacks. Either way, he was now completely cut off. By mid afternoon, Ron

couldn't take it anymore. No casualties had showed up at Jacobyette, and when he told his boss what was going on, she immediately told him to go home. There was no knowing how long it would even take him to get down there. Thankfully, he was able to hitch a ride with an ambulance headed downtown from the hospital. It was a surreal journey going against the tide as thousands of

people fled northwards on foot. Meanwhile, all of the bridges and tunnels from the island were closed to traffic, leaving the roads completely gridlocked. As they crawled slowly southwards, Ron saw what looked like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Then he realized they were in fact smoldering plumes of smoke and ash so thick they completely obscured the skyline. After more than six hours of travel, he finally made it as far as Tribeca, where the ambulance was stocked

by a police blockade. Ron was still wearing his scrubs, so when he told the police he was there to help, they quickly ushered him through, and then he was running. By now, night had descended all around. The streets were pitch black, plunged into darkness by a massive power cut. The only lights to guide his way were the lights of emergency vehicles and the flames of burning cars. It took him a while to find his bearings, but finally he made it home to two two five Rector Place.

Without electricity, the front doors to the building wouldn't open. He pushed and pulled at the brass handles, banging on the glass in the hope that somebody inside might hear him, but the lobby was dark and silent. Thankfully, a friend nearby was home, and Ron was able to spend the night on his sofa, but there would be no sleep. As his mind raised, he tried to focus on best case scenarios. The phone lines were down and the whole area had been evacuated. In all likelihood Sneehar would be

absolutely fine. She'd probably just been swept up in the mayhem and was now camped out somewhere for the night, just like him. But seeing his neighborhood transformed into what looked like a post apocalyptic movie, it was impossible not to imagine the worst. The next morning, Ron returned to his apartment building. By then the electricity had been restored and he was able to get inside and take the elevator up to his apartment. He opened the door and

blinked in confusion. Everything had turned gray. After a moment, he realized that a thick layer of dust and soot was covering the walls, floor, and furniture. He'd left the window open at the back of the flat. Looking down, he saw little paw prints in the soot. He followed them into the bedroom and with great relief, found the two kittens still alive and well, but there were no human footprints to be found and no other sign of Sneehart. By the following day, there was still no word from Sniha.

It had now been three days since Ron had last heard from her. Like many people in the city at that time, Ron began to search local hospitals and call every colleague and friend of Sneehar's that he could think of, but no one admitted to seeing her the night she disappeared.

He filed a missing person's report, He had flyers made with Sneehar's face and name on them, and he even tried to get the story of her disappearance into the news, but with the previous day's attacks understandably dominating the news cycle, producers and reporters had their hands full. Once they learned that Sneeha had technically gone missing on the tenth, they

lost interest altogether. Then Sneeha's brother, John dropped a bombshell, as he told a local news channel, Sneehar had called him on the morning of September Leon seven from the World Trade Center after the first plane had hit. He said, he urged her to get out of there, but she told him she couldn't. As a doctor, she had to stay and assist the injured. According to John. The last words he heard from his sister were I'm sorry, I have to help this person, and then she hung up.

But the story wasn't true. John had made it up out of desperation. It didn't mean any harm. He just hoped that by creating a hero story he could get Sneehar's face out in the media, and for a few days it seemed to do the trick, but nothing came of it. It was around this time that Ron checked his credit card statement and noticed a few unfamiliar payments that Sneehar must have made in the early evening of

September tenth, the day before she disappeared. Finally, he was able to piece together more of her last known movements. The payments came from a shop called Century twenty one, a discount department store across from the World Trade Center. Ron immediately headed to the shop and handed fliers out to the staff and anyone else willing to take one. A short time later, he got a phone call from

a clerk. She confirmed that she recognized Sneehart and had seen her on the tenth in the shoe department with a female friend. When store CCTV footage was eventually checked, Sneehart was quickly spotted, but shopping alone. It appeared that she spent an hour browsing and trying on various clothes. In the end, she bought a dress, some lingerie and tights, three pairs of shoes, and a new set of bed linens. Shortly after seven pm, cameras captured Sneehart leaving the store alone,

laden down with shopping bags. She exited through the revolving door and disappeared into the crowds on Courtland Street. Ron didn't recognize anyone else in the footage, and nor did she seem to be engaging with anyone. A plausible scenario was taking shape. Sneehar had gone to run errands alone and had arranged to meet the mystery friend the store

clerk had seen her with Afterwards. Perhaps, then thought Ron, she and the friend went straight out for dinner and drinks, and Sneehar had ended up crashing at her place The next morning. As Sneehar was returning home, she could have been caught up in the terrorist attack. She might even have rushed to the scene to help, just like her brother John had misguidedly claimed and been injured or killed in the process. All of that could have happened, but

there was no evidence to prove any of it. Despite his best efforts, Ron was never able to track down the mysterious friend that Sneehar apparently met on the tenth after leaving Century twenty one, and there was no more evidence to confirm any of her possible whereabouts or was there. The last officially confirmed footage of Sniehar is the CCTV footage from Century twenty one. But during the course of Ron's investigation, another piece of video footage emerged, one that

potentially changed the entire narrative. This one was from the security cameras inside the lobby of two two five Wrector Place, Sneehar and Ron's apartment building. Here's what it showed. At eight forty three a m. On September eleventh, a woman resembling Sneehar enters the lobby. She seems to hesitate, standing near the elevators for a couple of moments, but not pressing any buttons. Then she turns around and exits back onto the street. Less than three minutes later, the first

plane struck the North Tower. The footage is blurry and low resolution, and the woman's face is impossible to make out thanks to the harsh sunlight that bleaches the image, but her silhouette, haircut and clothing was said to all match Sneehart's, and if Sneehart really did return home that morning only to walk back onto the street just moments before the first plane hit, then her dying in the

attacks becomes a lot more plausible. But that footage wasn't the only new piece of information that emerged during the course of the missing person's investigation. Sneehar's grieving family understandably wanted to remember her as a happy, successful young woman who died a hero, but the reality was a lot more complicated. But one thing, Sneehar wasn't technically employed as

a doctor at the time of her disappearance. She'd been fired from her medical internship at Manhattan's Cabrini Medical Center in the spring of two thousand and one. According to the official report, the reasons for her contract not being renewed were alcohol related issues and consistent timeliness. Around this same time, Sneehar claimed that a fellow in turn at

Cabrini had sexually assaulted her in a bar. After her allegation was investigated, the DA's office concluded that she'd fabricated the story, so Sneehar was arrested and charged with filing a false police report. To give her her due, it should be said that, considering the shocking historical inability for law enforcement to get justice for survivors of sexual assault,

this doesn't necessarily mean it didn't happen. More recently, Sneehar secured a new position at a hospital on Staten Island, but she'd been suspended from there too for failing to attend mandated substance use counseling. Court records also indicate that Sneehar and Ron had been having marital trouble, and that she may have been unfaithful to him, often staying out all night at bars with strangers. What exactly happened to

the clothes she bought is another mystery. Perhaps she simply left them in a bar, or maybe she really was seeing someone else who, for whatever reason, decided not to come forward, and she left them at theirs before later disappearing. All the additional contexts concerning Sneeha's life suggested to some that she'd been spiraling out of control in the months leading up to her disappearance. This, in turn led many

to speculate that she wasn't a victim at all. Rather, she vanished because she wanted to the fact she potentially just happened to do this during one of the worst atrocities in modern American history only clouded the issue, and there was one more revelation to come. On the morning of the tenth, the day she disappeared, Sneehart hadn't just completed a few chores at home before calling her mother. She had appeared in court to plead not guilty to

the charge of filing a false report. According to police records, she and Ron got into a huge fight at the courthouse afterwards. So September tenth, two thousand and one, wasn't just a leisurely day off for her. In fact, it may have felt like everything in her life was falling apart. She and Ron had met as medical students, and until

that year they'd been on parallel upward trajectories. But that day, after their huge blow up, Ron headed off to his respectable hospital job, while Sneeha, still suspended, went home to an empty apartment and a blank schedule. What happened next is anyone's guess. Some think she may have ended her own life, Some that she really did run to help when she saw the first tower on fire and died

in the process. Others have suggested the possibility that she actually ran away and started a new life, using the nine to eleven attack as the perfect foil, while others still have speculated that she was actually murdered the night before, perhaps by someone she met while out at a bar.

All of it is possible. Snihar's family fought a year's long battle to have her officially recognized as a victim of nine to eleven, choosing to believe that she died a hero at the scene since there was no conclusive proof she was at the World Trade Center. The court initially ruled her date of death to be September tenth, two thousand and four, three years after the date she was last seen, as its standard for people presumed dead

under New York state law. Her family appealed this decision, and in two thousand and eight a higher court reversed the original ruling. The judge at the time argued that even without conclusive evidence, any other explanation for her death required rank speculation, and ruled that, like her loved ones claimed, the most likely scenario was that Sneehar died after being compelled to help others caught up in the nine to eleven attack, and perhaps there really is no reason to

think otherwise. Today, Sneehar's name is one of two thousand, nine hundred and eighty three listed on the National September eleventh Memorial in New York, But unlike most of the victims memorialized there, no physical trace of her has ever been found at the site, no DNA evidence, no personal belongings, and no eyewitness testimony placing her there. To all intents and purposes, snee Heer and Philip vanished into thin air on the night of September tenth, two thousand and one.

This episode was written by Emma Dibden and produced by Richard McLain smith. Thank you, as ever for listening Unexplained as an AV Club Productions podcast created by Richard McClain smith. All other elements of the podcast, including the music, are also produced by me Richard McLain smith. Unexplained. The book and audiobook is now available to buy worldwide. You can purchase from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Waterstones, and other bookstores.

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