On the last Friday of October, twelve-year-old Micah Benton saw an electric wheelchair stopped beside the shoulder of Willow Road. The streetlights worked only on alternate blocks, and the woman inside the chair was trying to steer with a hand that trembled from cold. Cars passed without slowing. Micah had been riding home from helping his uncle close the bicycle shop. He could hear the little motor attempting to move, then clicking off. He stopped his bike in front of her, far enough away that she could see his face. “Are you hurt?” he asked. “Only my pride,” she answered. Her name was Eleanor Price. She was seventy-six, wore a beige wool coat, and carried a brown leather bag on her lap. She explained that she had left a neighborhood meeting and the chair had suddenly veered toward the gutter. Micah called his uncle, Raymond Benton, before touching anything. Raymond told him to stay with the woman, move away from traffic if possible, and not attempt electrical repairs. Micah put his bicycle's rear light on the road-facing side. Eleanor's hands were white around the armrests. The front caster had turned sideways under the footplate; the chair could not roll straight even with the motor disengaged. Micah knelt to look, careful not to move the wheel. Something silver had been wedged behind the plastic guard, where no piece of road debris should have stayed. He shone his small flashlight through the gap and saw a flat metal container held in place with black tape. “Has someone repaired your chair recently?” he asked. Eleanor's expression changed so completely that he looked up. “Yes,” she whispered, “but that compartment isn't supposed to open. The woman had a small shopping list tucked inside her coat sleeve. Milk, batteries, and a birthday card were written there in pencil. Micah noticed it because ordinary errands made the situation more frightening, not less. A person could plan an ordinary evening and still be stranded with no reliable way home. He had never thought much about that before. His own bicycle was inexpensive, but when it broke he could usually push it. Eleanor could not simply stand up and do the same. The people involved understood why careful records mattered. The people involved understood why careful records mattered. The people involved understood why careful records mattered. The people involved understood why careful records mattered. The people involved understood why careful records mattered. The people involved understood why careful records mattered. The people involved understood why careful records mattered. Nobody could afford another hasty assumption about the evidence. A car slowed behind them, and Eleanor pulled her coat over the bag as though afraid the driver might recognize her.
