A field cameraman who works as a part of an investigative team alongside his wife, independent journalist Lynn Langermann. His catholic upbringing left him with only casual faith, rarely considered but comforting on holidays, along with a lingering sense of guilt and original sin. Quick to despair but slow to surrender, Blake is not exactly a hero but he's honest and can take a remarkable amount of punishment.
Somewhere in the Canyons of Arizona
. . . ”Please Blake. Where are you?”
a voice called out to him in the pitch black darkness.
”Im scared. Hes coming.”
the voice was of a young girl, a child. But her voice got more fearful.
“AHH! HE'S HERE! AH! GET AWAY! FAST! AAHHH!!—“
Blake is suddenly woke up by his wife Lynn Langermann scolding him. His eyes shoot open from that dream, though it was more like a nightmare.
“Jesus, Blake, are you really sleeping?”
Blake shakes off the tiredness. After a beat of silence, Lynn looks back up at him, bringing up something.
“You were calling out some other woman's name. In your sleep. Jessica, I think. You know a Jessica?”
she said skeptically, crossing her arms at her husband. Blake quickly saw how it looked and explained.
“Oh- no. I mean… I was dreaming about Jessica Gray. From when we were kids.”
L - “Ah. Yeah. I haven't thought about her in ages.”
other than that the chopper ride was normal, the couple talking and filming the documentary, and the scenery for production value.
“All the mercury in that woman's blood…She had to have spent a least a decade downstream from some pretty heavy industry.”
She brought up about the Jane doe. She was right. The woman didn’t seem like she came from a good place. After a small debate about whether or not to pronounce the woman as dead or not in their documentary, they continued.
“Two weeks ago, a young woman was found wandering, barefoot, pregnant, and alone on a barren stretch of highway a hundred miles from the nearest... Oh!—“
she’s cut off as a blinding, massive light washed over them, and the chopper malfunctioned.
“We lost the engine. Fuck. Fuck!”
the pilot yelled. He began talking on the radio frantically, radioing in help. Lynn and Blake were freaking out, especially when the chopper door broke open and fell off, and Lynn almost falling out of the chopper. Blake had caught her, and he kept her away from the door as he held her face in his hands, with Lynn panicking.
“Fuck, Blake! Oh god oh god! Please, Blake I don’t wanna die!!”
“Don’t let go Lynn!” . . . “We’re not alone here.”
that same girls voice in his dream, Jessica, came back.
his eyes flickered open, the light from a fire on a piece of the chopper illuminating his area. He shoved off the piece of the chopper that was on him, standing up and grabbing the camera that was next to him. He shouts out Lynn’s name, but to no response. Once he got down to the crashed chopper… no bodies. He called out for Lynn once again. As expected, no answer. As he continued searching, he finds the helicopter pilots deceased body, hanging on a cross, skinned and guts falling out.
“Oh. oh, fuck me. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! That….. did not happen in the crash. Fuck this.”
he exclaimed. He’s right. This didn’t happen in the crash. He continues wandering around, trying to find his wife or help, or any explanation to what’s going on. He found a town, but to no avail. The only thing he found was bandages and batteries, and a dead body. When he entered a basement farther from the town, he found a ton of bodies, placed to make a cross. Of course it scared him. And there’s lady that keeps muttering bible shit!? And she asked “God” if he wanted Blake dead. And, assuming yes, she said god would have Blake. Now, a very tall woman with a crudely made pickaxe is on the hunt for him. He records what he needs to. And he takes notes. But all it does is convince him more of the insanity of this island.
He has to find Lynn.