He's been trying to track it down for months.

"Hello – yes, my name's Ben Braeden. I'm asking about a black '67 Chevy Impala."

But he has to find it, because it's the one lead he might have.

"It's my father's old car; I'm trying to track it down for him."

Mom might have given up, but Ben knows Dean wouldn't just go off the grid like that. He'd call, check in, send postcards, something. He has to be in trouble. Maybe Ben can help.

"A black '67 Chevy Impala?"

It's slow going; mom won't let him have the truck, so he has to do it all by phone and on business hours, most of which land on school hours. But he's found a place out back that he can go to between classes where he can call up the next name on his list.

"Yes sir, a very nice car."

It should help that it's such a distinctive, old car.

"You do? No, I'll stay on the line."

Ben remembers Dean was proud of that. He taught Ben everything about that car and said when I'm gone one day, you look after her well, because there's not another one like it.

"Are you sure?"

But all that means is the disappointment comes quicker as the mechanics quickly flip through their records and say no, not a one. None come through for repairs.

"Alright, well, thanks anyways. Uh-huh, you too. Bye."

Ben has to find it, though. Because if he can find the car, he can find Dean. He has to be out there somewhere.