I saw housewives, farmers, nurses, paramedics, business people, a pregnant woman, and men and women of every age. Were these the angels I had prayed for? The sheriff organised people into groups and briefed them. Walking arm’s length from one another, they were to look for footprints while calling out the boys’ names. Again and again these human angels went back to search deeper in the damp, vine-entangled woods, and each time I prayed for their safety.

Throughout that long second day, people in the camp brought us blankets and food; many reached out to hug us. At the same time, the FBI was putting Michele and Tim through a long, torturous interrogation. As parents, they were suspects in the boys’ disappearance. Michele was subjected to a lie-detector test, which she failed when the agent asked, “Do you know where your boys are?”

“It was my responsibility,” she cried. “I should have known!” It was hard to comfort her. There had been no trace of the boys all day-no candy wrappers, no diapers, no footprints. That night Tim came outside and sat down beside me on the grass. “Haven’t slept yet,” I said, “have you?” His bottom lip quivered. “Mom, Michele and I think our boys are dead. We don’t think we’ll ever see them again,” he said. I put my arm around his shoulder and held him close. “Don’t say that, Tim.” “I believe it’s true,” he said, “and what’s worse is that they think Michele and I are to blame.” — Beliefnet.com