Ah, the oh so familiar fog. John swears under his breath, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. The lighter snaps shut. His eyes go down of the cliff. Beach -- he wonders if that's the same beach he woke up on. Would make sense, he supposes. It was too dark and the storm hid anything that could of been seen on the beach.

He gives a dramatic sigh and heads back to the lighthouse, looking for the front door.