It had been unreal enough the first time, but this time around, Charlie couldn't even begin to make heads or tails of what the hell had just happened. Miraculously just as unharmed as last time, although suspiciously lightheaded and out of breath, Charlie stood in front of the plane - the same plane - and carefully wiggled his bare toes deeper into the sand. Being drenched to the bone was the last of his concerns, because it was happening. Again. Oceanic Flight 815 had crashed. Again.
And he'd been in it ... again. Once should have been enough. But then a giant wave of balled up concern and fear hit him, almost hard enough to knock him off his feet. "Claire!"