He'd spent the day going through the camp of survivors, looking for anyone he recognized. It should have defied the odds, but every time Casper started to doubt he slipped his hand into his pocket to thumb at the wallet he'd found. Her ID was in it, so she had to be there. She had to be the one who'd called for a medic; the one he hadn't been able to help. So why couldn't he find her?
A wise man once said, you won't find what you're looking for until you stop looking. Casper re-learned that wisdom that night, when the reverberating - noises broke him from a restless sleep. When he opened his eyes, he didn't immediately remember being on the island. He was in another time, at another place, and those noises were... Casper was on the move and not really looking where he was going, not that it would've helped; the human ball he tripped over could have passed as a lumpy rock in broad daylight, let alone the dead of night.
Casper stumbled, cursing until he found his balance again. Then he turned, fished the keychain flashlight out of his pocket, and shined it on... "Brooks." There was authority in his voice despite almost tripping over her. "What are you doing here?"