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Alan and Donna Ackles' fourteen year old son vanished on his way home from school one Thursday afternoon. In spite of police, FBI, and later private investigations, in spite of an Amber Alert, search parties, scent dogs, and store window flyers and milk carton pictures, in spite of volunteer phone banks to receive phoned-in tips and online techs screening tweets that Jensen had been seen, alone or accompanied by a man of varying descriptions, an older couple, a woman and several other kids, in an old blue van, in a seven-eleven, in a mall in Provincetown or a church in Duluth—in spite of everything, there was no evidence, no real proof any of those sightings were of Jensen. There was no body found, no remains, and no closure for Jensen's family.

Jensen and Lee were waiting on the front porch when Jim reached his house. Mara had done her job; he noted the sweating glass of iced tea in each of their hands.

Sherri Padalecki made it clear that Jensen was welcome in their home anytime, so on some of the hotter days, he hung out with Jared and Chad in the basement, playing video games that were new to him, and a few old ones he was familiar with, and raiding the fridge. Jared's mom didn't mind. The basement was cool—not the decor, which was a little shabby standard rec room, but when the sun was blazing outside, the Padaleckis' basement was a cool haven to retreat to. But when the shadows lengthened and the July heat slackened in the late afternoons, most days found Jensen at the stadium, working on Trevor's mural.