This whole abduction thing weighed on me all day. I managed to finish off my special projects at work, leaving me with a mere month backlog of stuff to scan. I went to the weekly ballroom dance practice in the evening, but couldn’t shake my gloom this week. (That’s pretty bad; dance has never before failed to improve my mood.) Danced a salsa with Robin (discovered that it’s Robin’s perfume that attracts my reptilian brain), a cha-cha and a waltz with two random gals, and the last waltz (the hilariously awful—for a waltz—Rainbow Connection, sung by none other than Kermit the Frog) with Kristina. While that might sound like a halfway respectable number of dances, there were far too many songs for four to be significant. I did observe one guy with absolutely awesome cha-cha moves, though; I must learn from him.

And while I was doing all this, time was passing for Brooke. Even my questionably-optimistic 72-hour window (Marin thinks it’s more like a day) is almost up. There are still no leads.

I found myself looking down at my hands throughout the day, wondering what in the world they could do. I somehow feel responsible for this, simply because it occurred in my hometown, and want to make things right. There were so many people willing to help today that some were actually turned away—so I can’t even volunteer to ease my mind. Practically every lamppost on campus has a MISSING PERSON/ABDUCTION sign attached to it; every other street lamp is similarly adorned. I overheard one gal talking about it on her cell phone while walking back from dance. It’s horrifyingly surreal.