June 1987. A stretch of Route 22 through eastern Oregon, past the turnoff for a town called Lost Creek that isn't on most maps anymore. I was driving back from a recording session in Pendleton when I saw the station wagon pulled over on the shoulder, hazards blinking. An older man stood beside it, waving me down. He needed a jump. I had cables. That's the part that stays in your head afterward — how ordinary it was, how easy, how I didn't think twice. But the engine didn't sound right when it turned over. And the way he looked at me through the windshield before I pulled away — not grateful, not relieved. Like he was trying to memorize my face. Three weeks later I read the newspaper clipping a friend sent me: a 1978 Ford Country Squire, blue, found abandoned at the bottom of a ravine two miles past the same stretch of road. The plates matched. The registration matched. The owner had been missing since 1972.
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