Courage

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." - Anais Nin

Yes, it's been awhile. Over a year and a half. I'm in the process of overhauling a lot of things right now, the blog included. I stopped writing when I stopped blogging. Sad but true. Not the kind of thing a writer likes to admit, let alone practice. Life has been kind of crazy the past two years, but it's taught me a lesson or two. I'm hoping this time they stick.

I didn't pick the best time to start writing. Family moving, school ending, graduation imminent, a wedding anniversary, father-in-law coming to town, Father's day looming, chronic illness still parked above my head like a junker with no wheels. Don't get me started on learning a new camera and Photoshop Elements . . . . Still, the time felt right.

With Lost over, it seems obsolete to continue posting about it. Maybe I'll revisit an episode or two when a theme or literary device resonates, but I think my Lost days are over. Time to start fresh. Start new. Time to put on my steel-underpants and start writing.

Courage. Ain't it a bitch?

Land Locked

Judge a tree by its fruit, not by its leaves – Euripides

One of the things I like about Lost is the depth of characterization. Just when you think you have someone figured out, a weed from the past sprouts up and strangles their belief system. Some characters, like Jack, have obvious merit and self-worth, but their heroic acts screen hidden stores of conflict. Others, like Kate, are light on details but heavy with admirable traits so that any zingers revealed don’t knock us completely off the love train.

No one, however, took quite as long to evolve as John Locke. He doesn’t speak a word of dialogue until the second hour of the pilot, giving new meaning to the phrase, “strong, silent type.” Despite the lack of verbal discourse, Locke still makes an impact. Let’s take another look at the pilot and shine the spotlight in John Locke’s direction.

Pandemonium prevails after the crash. Jack’s unflinching emergency services take center stage, so we barely register when Locke walks on. He’s one of two men assisting Jack in the rescue of a trapped man. Locke is eager to help, but wastes no energy on idle conversation. Once Jack works his way through the primary wave of injuries, an uneasy cadence settles over the crash site. Alone, Locke sits by the water’s edge, contemplating the vast, empty sea. Dusk trickles ashore. The jungle monster makes its cacophonous debut, trampling palm trees inside the green felt valley adjacent to the beach. Locke is one of many who turn in bewilderment.

Our first preview of Locke comes day two when Kate commandeers a pair of hiking boots from a dead passenger. Regret looms large as she searches for a pair her size. Successful, she catches Locke peering at her. His expression is pinched into a tight-lipped grimace. She stills. Does he know the person whose shoes she’s just pilfered? Guilt inflames remorse. Locke suddenly smiles. His lips strain around an orange slice, obscuring teeth and context. He chomps the wedge like Magilla Gorilla then looks away.

Huh? The moment leaves a strange taste in our mouths. While most main characters are drawn together in communal comfort, Locke isolates himself. An abrupt downpour scatters survivors like ants. Everyone scurries for cover - everyone but Locke. He’s seated amidst a circle of plane debris, drenched to the bone. Glancing skyward, he lifts his arms, a sinner rinsed clean by liquid redemption. A queer duck, to be sure.

His first words do little to dismantle the myth. He unearths a backgammon game and assembles the board. Michael’s ten-year-old son, Walt, wanders by. Is it like Checkers? Locke finally replies, Not really. It’s a better game than Checkers. Locke likes games. We know this is symbolic. Dialogue is never throwaway on this show. Every word counts, especially with a man stingy with them.

Locke asks if Walt plays Checkers with his pop - not father or dad. Pop. Informal, unstuffy. Walt discloses he’s been living with his mom, but she died a couple weeks ago. Locke ponders that. You’re having a bad month. No artifice, just simple sentiment. Michael’s initial forays into parenting have been ham-handed and somewhat patronizing. Walt laps up Locke’s candor like a thirsty puppy. He kneels down. Locke explains the origins of backgammon. Remnants of the game were found as far back as ancient Mesopotamia. Older than Jesus Christ. Dice made of bones. Just the kind of entertainment that captivates a ten-year old. No doubt Walt is mentally adding it to his Christmas list. Locke elaborates: Two players, two sides. One’s light, one’s dark. More symbolism? Oh, I think so. Dualism is sewn into the fabric of the show.

Here’s where it gets dicey. Locke leans in and asks, Walt, do you want to know a secret?

If this were HBO or Showtime, an Amber Alert would surely follow. Fortunately Locke is family-friendly peculiar not serial-killer cuckoo. But the question underscores the struggle and uncertainty that shroud Locke season long. This tiny nibble is all we get in the two hour premiere. It’s not until the next episode, Tabula Rasa, that we witness the compassion that insulates his ideology.

The revealing act involves his new BFF Walt. Michael struggles with Walt’s fascination with Locke. Jealousy tarnishes his efforts to connect with the son he barely knows. Michael asks what he and Locke spoke about. Walt is non-committal. Some of it’s secret. Michael’s paternal hackles go rigid. He tell you not to tell me? No. Walt relents. Mr. Locke said a miracle happened here. Michael shrugs. It’s a miracle any of them survived. He doesn’t want Walt hanging out with Locke anymore. Walt is furious – Mr. Locke’s his friend. I’m your friend, too, Michael reminds him. Walt begs to differ. If you were my friend, you’d find Vincent. Vincent is Walt’s yellow lab, missing since the plane crash.

Michael doesn’t believe Vincent survived, but he issues the standard platitudes – yes, he cares about the dog; of course he’ll do everything he can to find it once the rain stops.

Guess what? The rain stops. God’s own paternal prod. Make good or eat crow, buddy.

Despite giant reservations about entering the forest, Michael tramps in only to get chased out by something he doesn’t stick around long enough to see. Well, he tried, didn’t he? Meanwhile, Locke is whittling a small block of wood into a whistle. The main plot of the episode - the fate of the marshal – straddles these brisk snippets of Locke, Michael, and Walt. By the time Sawyer makes his fateful decision, forcing Jack to act, we’re ready for an emotional pick-me-up.

By dawn the next day, we get it. Locke parks himself on a spit of sand, facing a wall of dense vegetation. He blows into his whistle. The high-pitched frequency softly resonates. In the distance a dog barks in response. Out trots Vincent; happy, hardy and whole. The camp is just stirring when Locke returns. He wakes Michael to tell him he’s found Walt’s dog. Locke points to where he’s tethered Vincent to a tree. I know that Walt lost his mom. I thought you should be the one to bring his dog back to him.

When Walt wakes to see his dad leading Vincent toward him, we are putty in Locke’s hands. Fresh starts abound among the survivors, but only Locke’s gesture make this Hallmark moment possible for father and son. Before we pronounce Locke Santa Claus, though, he logs in a course correction. As Michael and Walt are enmeshed in a euphoric display of fist-bumping, the camera pans to Locke. He scrutinizes their mawkish spectacle with the unsentimental glower of an alpha male forced to watch High School Musical. Is Locke rethinking his generosity? Judging Michael’s parenting skills? Fantastically constipated?

We don’t have enough info to say either way, but the next episode, Walkabout, exposes a startling secret, adding a fascinating layer to the crazy quilt that is Locke’s character.

Fear, Itself: Part Two

The hardest years in life are those between ten and seventy. – Helen Hayes

Previously, on Fear, Itself: the gang has been invited to a haunted house party at Alpha Delt, but a hinky icon painted on the floor infuses the building with serious mojo. Decorations animate and mortal fears manifest. Trapped inside, our crew discovers frat brother Chaz cowering in a closet.

Chaz babbles to himself, rocking frantically. Buffy demands to know what is going on. Chaz flicks a glance at Buffy then screams. The homicidal skeleton looms behind Buffy, stabbing her in the shoulder. She wheels and kicks it in the face. When it lands, it’s a simple dime store skeleton again. Buffy decides she will go upstairs while they find a way out. Willow is astonished: You’re telling us to run away and leave you behind? Buffy yanks a small crossbow from her basket. We need help. We need the only person who can make sense of what’s happening. Giles.

The man of the hour sits alone, deflated by his lack of trick-or-treaters - a ringing metaphor for his diminished role in life. Someone finally knocks on his door. He springs up, poised to launch into a Happy Halloween chorus when Anya bursts in. Xander’s trapped. Giles frowns. Buffy and the others? Oh, they’re trapped too. But we’ve got to save Xander. Giles implores Anya to slow down. She gives him the lowdown on the missing door and disappearing window, leading Giles to hypothesize about matter distortion and summoning spells. Re-energized, he gathers supplies, grateful for a purpose. I shouldn’t worry too much about Xander. At least he’s among friends.

Not for long. Buffy and Willow dispute strategy. Buffy can’t do her job if she has to worry about them. Well, she’s not the only able-bodied person here, is she? Willow can cast a guiding spell to light the way. Let’s be honest, Will. Your basic spells are usually about fifty-fifty. Oops. These high school buddies are experiencing college level friction. Willow huffs off. I’m not your sidekick, she snaps. Buffy stops short while Oz pursues Willow.

Buffy is peeved but also a little dejected. Willow is more independent and self-assured than ever. She loves school, has a steady boyfriend, and a cool developing ability that doesn’t repel men. Slayer strength isn’t exactly an aphrodisiac. Academics – not exactly Buffy’s strength. Her father deserted her, Angel dumped her, and Parker disposed of her. Life was a lot easier in high school. If you ignore the vampires and demons and Hellmouth part. And the fact Angel transformed into a murderous psychopath during junior year. Other than that, life was a cake walk. You bet.

Xander tries to smooth things over – we’re all a little spooked. Willow’s upset. And Buffy has been pushing them away recently. Now’s not the time to fight. I’m still with you. Right by your side. Buffy looks straight at him then spins in alarm. Xander? Xander, where are you? Now Xander’s alarmed. What is she talking about? He’s right here. He yells her name. Nothing. She doesn’t see him. This is so typical of him, Buffy grouses. Typical? Xander is wounded. What does that mean? And why is he suddenly invisible? He pats himself down, looks up, and Buffy is gone. He’s alone. Abandoned.

Willow sheds pieces of her costume as she marches down the hallway. She thinks I’m not ready to be a full blown witch - a rye observation given Willow started the episode with this very worry. I can control dark forces just as good as anyone. Oz suspects they’re not thinking clearly, rubbing his hand in a distracted way. Suddenly it’s matted with fur. His fingernails are yellow and claw-like. He’s changing. B-but, you can’t be. There’s no moon tonight, Willow exclaims. He has to get away. He can’t wait for Giles. He has to leave NOW. He pushes her away, accidentally slashing her. She sees the feral light in his eyes, the dread. He bolts. Oz, she cries. Don’t leave me!

Xander wanders until he finds a mirror. His reflection is there. So why can’t his friends see him? He’s fading away, just as he’s feared. College has opened new avenues closed to him. The odd man out.

Willow chants to the goddess of the lost and conjures light, a dancing firefly dot that hovers awaiting instruction. Tickled pink, Willow asks it to lead her to Oz. The firefly darts to the door, then Willow wavers. Reconsiders. No, they should try to find people trapped upstairs. Objective muddled, the unstable firefly divides in two, then four, then eight, replicating at an alarming rate. Suddenly it’s an aggressive swarm buzzing Willow’s head. She swats at it, calling for help. Some zip into her mouth. She coughs and gags, terrified, and charges off.

On the other side of a wall, Buffy hears Willow’s shouts. Frantic, Buffy surveys a door on the opposite wall. She grips the doorknob. Locked. She charges and crashes through, only to fall two stories to the basement floor. She’s knocked out briefly, but comes to and hears a voice: All alone. Josh shuffles into view, his head cocked at a sickening angle. They all ran away from you. They always will. Josh affirms Buffy’s greatest fear. Open your heart to someone and… His smile is maniacal. Hands burst through the ground and lash at Buffy. Several zombies crawl through to ambush her.

Outside, Giles reads from a text and feels the wall where the front door used to be. They must create a new opening. Unexpectedly, he drops the book and hoists a chain saw, carving a hole into the side of the house. Meanwhile, Buffy fights off zombies and escapes through a small door into the party room. Terrified students in costume quiver at her feet. She finds Oz, who looks normal again. Willow races into the room, slapping at fireflies no longer orbiting. Oz calms her. We need to get out of here, Buffy declares. Sitting to the side, Xander offers his opinion, but you jerks aren’t going to hear it anyway. Not that “didn’t go to college boy” is worth listening to. Buffy walks over and asks, What is wrong with you? She can hear him! He’s not invisible anymore.

The house separated us, Oz deduces. It wanted to scare us. Buffy agrees. They were drawn to this room. Why? They glance down, see the symbol painted on the ground. Xander spies the book from which Chaz took the symbol. Willow translates. It’s the Mark of Gachnar. Somehow the summoning spell was triggered. Gachnar is trying to manifest. The demon feeds on fear - they must stop nourishing it. Giles suddenly kicks in the door. The contrast of Giles brandishing a chain saw while Anya bounces harmlessly through the door to hug Xander is priceless.

Giles informs them the hallways have closed behind them. He takes command of the spell book and explains Gachnar’s presence infects the reality of the house. They can’t let it achieve full manifestation. Can’t Buffy fight it? Buffy, this is Gachnar - Giles shows her its picture. A huge, horrid-looking creature stares back. Buffy shudders. Let’s shut it down. Giles recites: The summoning spell for Gachnar can be shut down in one of two ways. Destroying the Mark of Gachnar –

Buffy drops to her knees and punches through the floorboards, mangling the icon.

-- is not one of them and will, in fact, immediately bring forth the Fear Demon. Whoops. Giles glares at Buffy. A terrible roar shakes the room. Gachnar, in all his hideous glory, rises from below. Dead silence ensues as everyone realizes Gachnar is barely six inches tall. His cartoon helium voice threatens: I am the Dark Lord of nightmares, the bringer of terror. Tremble before me! No one is trembling now, except with laughter. Giles reminds Buffy that size doesn’t matter in slaying. She approaches Gachnar, who tries to redirect her: They’re all going to abandon you, you know. Buffy isn’t buying that. Not today. She stomps him like a grape.

The Scooby gang tackles the speed bumps of college just as they did those of high school: at full speed and head-on. Responsibilities double, friends drift, paths diverge. Though college agrees with Willow, she still suffers bouts of her old self-doubts. Xander’s abandonment issues continue to fester like a wound in need of constant dressing. Buffy sprints towards adulthood, but the inevitability of her vocation weighs more heavily, slowly crushing her secret longing to be normal.

Despite the stability friends and family bring her, Buffy resists. Fate challenges her desire for emotional attachments. She’s an anomaly. Slayers are supposed to be lone creatures, hunters who protect and serve in isolation. None fashion everlasting relationships outside of their watcher. Even there, slayers rarely form the paternal bond Buffy enjoys with Giles. She’s bucked the system since day one. She’s only too aware how precarious her position is.

Buffy’s on borrowed time. Cursed with a job she doesn’t want, blessed with friends she shouldn’t have. She’s condemned to this life. They aren’t. It’s only a matter of time before they realize it and jump ship.

But friendship’s a funny thing. Sometimes it withers and dies. Sometimes it sticks like gum to the undercarriage of life - forever. Noble intentions may drive Buffy to push Willow and Xander overboard, but love and affection anchor them to her. Fear is no match for faith and fealty. The Scoobies are determined to stay together. Through dissension, defection, disaster, and desertion. No matter the odds.

Fear, Itself: Part One

Everything I’ve ever done was out of fear of being mediocre – Chet Atkins

Happy Halloween! Fear, Itself was the second Halloween-themed episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, advertising each character’s worst nightmare like a Walmart circular. An entire show devoted to black moments. For writers, it doesn’t get any better than this.

Situated in season four, the Scooby gang has graduated from high school and moved on. The newly single slayer and blossoming witch Willow now attend Sunnydale U. Endearingly insecure Xander is living in his parents’ basement, working odd jobs and trying to shed the self-adhered label of loser. Angel, Buffy’s vampire love interest, has moved to LA to start his own show. Business. I mean business. The hilariously vain Cordelia has followed in his footsteps.

Giles, Buffy’s watcher and former school librarian, wrestles with unemployment now that Sunnydale High is history. In a tradition all students should experience, the last graduating class attacked their keynote speaker who schemed to use graduation as a launching pad for demon ascension. Thus transformed, he planned to eat the entire senior class. But these forewarned, future captains of industry thwarted his plans. They cornered him/it in the school, blew the place to smithereens, and saved the world.

New cast members Anya and Oz fill in the gaps. Oz is a newly minted werewolf and Willow’s love puppy. Anya is a former vengeance demon reacquainting herself with mortal life. She’s been a demon for centuries thus oblivious to the finer points of congeniality. To call her socially inept would be talking it up.

The night before Halloween, Buffy, Willow and Oz lounge at Xander’s, but the reliably perky Buffy is decidedly perkless. Fresh from her breakup with Angel, she took a gamble with Parker Abrams, an unscrupulous womanizer who discarded Buffy with nary a Dear Jane warning. Buffy is drowning in rejection. To cheer her up, Xander holds up the scary movie he has planned for tomorrow night - Fantasia. Head slap. It was supposed to be Phantasm. Willow reminds them they’ve been asked to the Alpha Delt Halloween bash.

This is news to Xander. Already sensitive about his non-matriculating status, he feigns indifference. Willow issues a belated invite and he lunges for it like a dingy in a sea of sharks. Buffy exits early to the dismay of her friends who conclude she’s still suffering post-Parker depression. Buffy slogs home, droopy and despondent. She reacts on instinct when a demon approaches, slapping him to the ground. He cries in pain and rips off his mask, revealing an aggrieved human teenager. What the hell is wrong with you? Buffy wonders the same thing.

The next afternoon at the college cafe, Willow chats with Buffy about her budding witchcraft skills. She’s got the basics down, but moving into the next level intimidates her. She should be ready. She wants to be ready. But she’s kind of . . . not. Oz joins them, hoping Buffy isn’t encouraging Willow. He lays out his concerns. As a werewolf, he knows what it’s like to get in touch with dark forces. He can’t control the furry side once it emerges. It’s worrisome. He’s concerned for her, but he’ll back whatever decision she makes regarding her steps toward magical mastery.

A burst of laughter draws Buffy’s attention to a table where Parker is enjoying a conscience-free lunch with a pretty co-ed. Buffy abandons her food and rushes off. Willow catches her in the hall. Don’t let jerky Parker chase you away. He’s not. Buffy just doesn’t want to deal right now. Nor does she want to meet anyone at the party. She’ll probably patrol tonight instead. But it’s Halloween, Willow reminds her. The one evening vampires and their ilk go on holiday. Buffy will touch base with Giles, but she’s pretty sure he doesn’t hold with the whole Halloween thing.

On the contrary. Candy bowl in hand, Giles enthusiastically greets Buffy dressed in a festive sombrero and matching poncho. She apprises him of her plans. She doesn’t want to be caught off guard - like one Halloween, when Ethan Rayne turned everyone into their costumes (see the GMC&D of Trick or Treat). Giles reassures her. That was a rare exception. I promise you, there’s little chance of any supernatural activity tonight.

Giles, Giles, Giles. Such guarantees should never be voiced aloud in Sunnydale. To prove it, the Alpha Delts are feverishly decorating their hallways. One brother has found a fearsome image to paint on the floor. He holds a book open to a page with a satanic symbol. Great! The portents just keep on a’coming.

Xander is on his way out when Anya appears. You haven’t called, she complains. Xander’s eyes widen. You said you were over me. She only said that because she thought it’s what he wanted to hear. It’s been one week since they copulated and she hoped they could celebrate that anniversary. Xander already has plans. Anya doesn’t understand why he persists on associating with them. They go to college, you don’t. They no longer live at home, you do…. Xander’s mediocrity meter shoots into the red and he switches subjects by inviting her along. Like a date? He admits there are date-like qualities to his request. This pleases her until he tells her to wear a costume. What kind of costume? She’s an ex-demon who terrorized men for millennia. He’s sure she’ll come up with something.

On the top floor where creeped out corridors lead to the party room, the two frat brothers, Chaz and Josh, put the finishing touches on the supernatural symbol. Xander and Oz haul in sound equipment. After helping Oz set it in place, Xander wanders over and admires their diabolical design. What’s it mean? No idea, Chaz replies. Just copped it from some old tome. Josh tells Xander to consider pledging to the house. Oz informs them Xander isn’t a student. Oh. A townie. He looks so normal.

Xander takes that jab with a brittle laugh while Oz tests the speakers. His super wolf senses detect a sputter in one of the speakers. With a pocket knife, he trims a wire but nicks his finger in the process. It’s nothing, he says, and walks toward the circle, shaking it off. Flecks of his blood dapple the demon symbol. And doesn’t it just figure, the symbol on the floor starts to waver and glow? And a plastic tarantula lying within the perimeter suddenly quivers to life and scurries off? And doesn’t it escape the notice of every male in the room? Typical.

Back home, Buffy’s mom, Joyce, alters a red cape from a childhood costume to fit the grown-up Buffy. They reminisce about Halloweens past when Buffy’s dad insisted on escorting her, even when she was twelve. Your father loved spending time with you. The cheery mood evaporates when Buffy ponders this. Not enough, I guess. Buffy’s absentee dad has been a constant source of conflict, especially since his disappearing act coincided with her new occupation as vampire slayer. She harbors considerable guilt about the breakup of her parents’ marriage, even though her mother insists the divorce had nothing to do with her. I don’t know…there’s a pattern here. Open your heart to someone and he...he bails on you. Maybe it’s easier to not let anyone in anymore.

Joyce admits she felt that way too, but she has a nice circle of friends now. She squeezes Buffy’s hand. I’ll always be here for you. And you’ve got Mr. Giles. And your friends. Believe me, there’s nothing to be afraid of. She didn’t just say that, did she? Does no one in this town have a memory? As they speak, Josh leads his blindfolded girlfriend into the frat party room. He tells her to stick her hand in a bowl of eyeballs, which are actually peeled grapes. The joke’s on him. When she lifts the blindfold and peeks down, what she’s holding is genuine eyeballs. Bwaaa-ha-ha-ha-haaa!

Currently unaware, the gang assembles in front of the frat house. Buffy is Little Red Riding Hood with a twist – she has weapons in her basket, just in case. Xander is suited and suave secret agent man – insurance, in case he gets turned into his costume again. Willow is medievally garbed Joan of Arc – on account of her being almost burned at the stake (for being a witch, in the previous season’s Gingerbread episode) and because of her close personal relationship with God. Oz is dressed like everyday Oz, until he lifts his outer shirt to reveal a name tag that announces: Hi. My name is God.

Xander explains Anya is having trouble deciding on a costume so she’s going to meet them here later. Buffy grimaces. Everyone has a date but her. Third-wheel Buffy. Willow denies that and takes Buffy’s arm. We’re gonna have the best time.

Inside the house, panic reigns. Strobe lights flash. Students scream. Doors slam and lock inexplicably. Josh races toward the steps then plummets down, breaking his neck. A malevolent voice demands to be free. However, when the gang enters the front door, silence is their host. The utter lack of noise and people is unsettling. They follow signs, passing spider webs and various standard spooky props. A skeleton shoots out of a closet, wielding a toy knife. But a live spider drops onto Willow’s shoulder and rattles everyone.

Oz frowns at a wall where a corridor used to be. Buffy kneels down to touch something on the carpet. Blood. She sniffs. Real blood. Then they’re swarmed by bats. Real bats. One snags in Buffy’s hair. She yanks it free and tosses it while the rest fly off. When Oz picks it up, it’s just a rubber toy. What is going on? The malevolent voice demands to be released again. They’ve been around the block before. This is not some simple frat house prank. It’s the real deal.

Outside, Anya clops up the front walk dressed as a giant bunny. Terrifying. She halts on the porch and realizes there’s no door. Just a wall and a “hellcome” mat. Strange. She backtracks and peers up at the second story. A shrieking girl stands in a window, pounding on glass smeared with blood. The window is suddenly swallowed by the cement edifice. Anya’s only thought is Xander and she hurries off.

The gang retraces their steps to the front door but it’s vanished. They hear someone whimpering and find Chaz huddled in the closet, mumbling to himself: I’m sorry, I didn’t know…I didn’t know… Didn’t know what? It’s alive. We pan to a nearby hallway where the skeleton dangles, knife in hand. But it’s no longer a harmless collection of plastic. It’s sinewy and sinister and armed with a homicidal agenda. And a butcher blade.

Who will be its first target? Find out in the conclusion of Fear, Itself.

Clean Slate

When you forgive, you in no way change the past - but you sure do change the future. - Bernard Meltzer

The first regular season episode following Lost’s pilot is entitled Tabula Rasa, the Latin phrase for “blank slate.” The metaphor tilts more on the side of fresh start than blank slate, but it takes the entire episode before any new beginnings appear possible.

The U.S. Marshal (aka shrapnel man) under Jack’s care mumbles about a dangerous woman – one he must find and bring back. Jack assumes this is the indiscriminate ramblings of a feverish patient. Then the marshal mentions handcuffs. Jack sits up and takes notice. A pair of handcuffs has turned up (see Fox on the run). The marshal directs Jack to check his jacket pocket. Jack finds a flyer with Kate’s photo. Not just any photo – a mug shot. Dangerous. The woman who stitched him up and braved the jungle beast is a wanted woman. Jack is thunderstruck.

As the hiking party makes camp in the valley, they’re deeply uneasy the distress call is on a continuous loop, suggesting previous survivors faired poorly over time. Sayid recommends they not reveal what they heard until they understand it. If we tell them what we know, we take away their hope. And hope is a very dangerous thing to lose. Kate extrapolates the obvious: So we lie.

On the beach, Hurley asks after shrapnel man, who looks distressingly close to meeting his maker. Hurley observes he’s yellow in a tone that indicates he’s no doctor but even he knows that’s bad. Jack admits the wound is infected but the antibiotics will fight it. If they don’t, his body will shut down and his abdomen will go rigid. We sense denial here, as if Jack won’t accept this. Hurley spies the handout with Kate’s mug shot. What do you think she did? Jack refuses to speculate and urges Hurley to drop it.

Sayid is startled awake when Boone slides the clip from his pocket. Boone has lifted the gun in the guise of guard duty. Everyone is awake now, dubious of Boone’s motives. Sayid demands the gun back. Sawyer has his own opinion and zero inclination to keep it to himself. Bickering ensues until Shannon proposes they give the gun to Kate. Yes, give the criminal the weapon because, clearly, she lacks a certain fear of them and that doesn’t ring any warning bells. No matter. The solution mollifies the majority so Boone reluctantly relinquishes the gun.

When the pistol passes to Kate, she flashes back to a moment when she is awakened by a rifle cocking in her face. The man holding the rifle is Ray Mullen, an Australian sheep rancher who lost his wife, his hand, and much of his financial independence due to a huge mortgage. Sizing Kate up as harmless, he makes her a business proposition. She’s done a lot of running in her life but she’s not opposed to an honest exchange of labor for wages.

In the present, the hiking party returns to the shore. Sayid organizes a community effort to boost the transceiver signal with cell phones and other electronic devices. Kate seeks out Jack. Despite Sayid’s recommendation, Kate explains about the distress call, the length of time it’s been playing, the dire implications. Jack digests this. Anything else? He asks as if expecting a conscience-cleansing disclosure. Instead, she glances toward the tarp tent where the marshal is. He say anything? Jack pauses, shakes his head. No. Kate, the alleged criminal, chooses candor, while Jack elects otherwise. Lying is becoming a habit for the good doctor.

For the marshal to have any chance, he needs stronger antibiotics. Hurley is too squeamish to enter the plane where bodies still litter the wreckage, so Jack assumes the task. He runs into Sawyer, who is plundering for booty. In his bag: booze, cigarettes, and girly magazines. In Jack’s bag? Medicine. That sums these two men up perfectly. Sawyer concedes the point. He also believes rescue isn’t happening. And since he’s being so frank, how many pills is Jack willing to waste on a guy who’s dying? You’re just not looking at the big picture, Doc. You’re still back in civilization. And where’s Sawyer? In the wild. He ain’t just whistling Dixie, either.

Kate swings by to chat with Jack and collides with Hurley. Hurley sputters that Jack is in the fuselage. He nearly has a coronary when he spots the gun stuffed in Kate’s waistband. Hurley can’t dash off fast enough. Kate crawls in under the tarp and studies the unconscious marshal. She flashes back to Mullen’s ranch. She’s about to sneak off in what we’re beginning to appreciate is a pattern of quick getaways. She collects her wages, which are hidden in the kitchen cupboard. Ray catches her before she disappears. He knew she would leave eventually, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be in the middle of the night. Kate apologizes. She has trust issues. He asks her to stay one more night – he’ll drive her to the train station in the morning because everyone deserves a fresh start.

Kate returns to the present to find the marshal’s eyes open. Before she can react, he grabs her throat and squeezes as if his life depends on it. Maybe it does. He’s so crazed he forces her onto her back. Jack finds them locked in combat and pries the marshal off. He examines his patient then glares at Kate. What did you do? Gasping for breath, she explains she was just checking on him. Is he okay? Jack’s jaw tightens. He’s not responding to any antibiotics, he’s bleeding internally, his fever’s pushing a hundred and four. And his abdomen’s rigid. Only an alien bursting from his chest could be worse.

Will he suffer? Jack does not want to have this conversation. Yes, the marshal will suffer. No, it won’t be quick. Days, likely. She beseeches: Can’t you put him out of his misery? Hippocratic oath straining, Jack blasts her. I saw your mug shot, Kate. I am not a murderer. He stalks off. Tried, convicted, and deserted, Kate stands alone in the rain and flashes back to Ray Mullen - who, as it turns out, betrays her to the marshal. So much for a fresh start. The bounty on her head was too much for a physically disabled rancher with a mortgage to pass up. A hard decision, but Kate wins the short of the end stick. Again.

Throughout the day, the groans of the marshal echo across the beach. Sayid approaches Jack to offer assistance. The prolonged suffering is upsetting everyone, in case Jack hadn’t noticed. Rumor has it he’s fighting a losing battle, anyway. Another moan punctuates Sayid’s meaning. Jack must face reality, one he’s not eager to confront.

Sawyer offers Kate a light to start a campfire not far from the yowling marshal. He strikes up a conversation about the gun she took from him. Sure wouldn’t want to be the one with that gun right now. ‘Cause everyone sitting out there listening to that poor boy scream all night knows what’s got to be done. Kate does not respond. Sawyer knows she’s thinking the same thing. He overheard her tell Jack as much. The silence that settles between them shivers with a doomed man’s agony.

Inside the tent, the marshal implores Jack: No matter what she does, no matter what she makes you feel, just don’t trust a word she says. She will do anything to get away. What has she done? Rather than answer, he makes a demand: I want to talk to her. Alone.

Kate walks toward the tent, gun snug in her waistband. She flashes back to the moment the marshal overtakes her and Ray. Desperate, Kate wrenches the steering wheel and forces the truck off the road. It somersaults several times before careening to a halt. Ray is knocked unconscious. A fire ignites under the hood, prompting Kate to scramble out, dragging Ray to safety. Her act of humanity costs her. The marshal materializes beside her and sticks a gun to her head.

Now inside the tent, the marshal asks Kate what favor had she been about to request before the crash. Kate reflects a moment: I wanted you to make sure that Ray Mullen got his twenty-three grand. The marshal snorts then lapses into a coughing fit. The guy who ratted you out? Why? He had a hell of a mortgage. The marshal can’t believe it. She would have gotten away if she hadn’t stopped to save Ray. She did get away, she reminds him. You don’t look free to me. Even near death this guy can’t lighten up. I’m gonna die, right? She nods. He drops his bomb: You gonna do it, or what?

Yikes. Nobody deserves to suffer like this, but he so strains a person’s benevolence it’s tough to contemplate his request.

Hurley hustles up to Jack, who stands near the shoreline staring out to sea. Hurley asks where Kate is. In the tent. Hurley’s jaw drops. You let her in there alone? She’s got the gun. Jack wheels around and makes tracks toward the tent; stops short when Kate emerges on the other side, slouching away. He calls her name, nearly smiling in relief.

The unexpected gunshot jolts him. Kate doesn’t flinch. She regards Jack with a sad inevitability then turns away. Sawyer stomps from the tent, gun in hand. His expression is a hardened mask, but it sags when he spots Jack. Guilt flushes his features. Jack is outraged. What did you do? Sawyer’s bravado slams down in place. What you couldn’t. He understands Jack’s a doctor, but the marshal asked me to do it. Something had to be done. Despite Sawyer’s sanctimonious anger, there’s a thread of naked wretchedness to it, like he’s trying to convince himself.

Coughing erupts inside the tent. Oh, no. Sawyer and Jack exchange horrified glances. Jack surges into the tent and falls to his knees. Sawyer follows. The marshal is still alive. Jack presses a handful of tissues against the new wound. You shot him in the chest? Sawyer was aiming for his heart. You missed. His lung is perforated. He’ll drown in his own blood. It will take hours. I only had one bullet, Sawyer says helplessly. The misery on his face is terrible. Get out, Jack shouts, equally miserable.

Sawyer stumbles from the tent. His hand trembles as he shakes a cigarette from a pack. The marshal’s convulsive gasps taunt him. Tension stretches so taut Sawyer can’t light his cigarette. He chucks it in frustration. Then . . . quiet descends. Sawyer stills. No gasping. No moaning. Silence. Jack hobbles from the tent, breathless and bitter. Neither man can look at the other as Jack plows by.

The next morning, Jack sits quietly on the edge of the water watching aquamarine waves tiptoe ashore. After the night he had, the natural beauty cuts through the soul. The haunting theme of the show, heavy with string instruments, weeps in the background. Kate wanders up and takes a seat next to Jack. His expression is difficult to read. She wants to explain what she did, why the marshal was after her. Jack shakes his head. It doesn’t matter who they were before the crash. Three days ago, we all died. We should all be able to start over. She okay with that? Kate is very okay with that.

Jack offers Kate the one thing that has eluded her much of her life – a new start. His form of forgiveness. Given the hellish night, it’s a mighty gesture, showcasing Jack’s greatest strength – his compassion. Initially, that strength is a flaw. He can’t bring himself to euthanize a man like some ancient, incontinent dog. It goes against everything Jack is. He has to be forced, under pressure, to make a character-altering decision. To see mercy in a new light. Medical ethics eclipse human decency at first, but in the end, he does what must be done.

Kate understands this. The label of criminal may hang over her head, but she can’t pull the trigger. Not with this man. She could never be sure her motives were pure. To do the right thing, she places the gun in the hands of a man with no purpose outside pity. The conflict balloons as a result of this choice - the black moment, in literary terms - which is as it should be. The worst case scenario is the ideal vehicle by which a character learns the lesson. And evolves.

There were other neat moments at the end of this episode involving sub-plots and cast members we've yet to detail – among them, the enigmatic John Locke – but those will be addressed as we tackle each character. John is next, but I’m taking a short break from Lost to analyze another Halloween episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I covered the first one several months ago – see The GMC & D of Trick of Treat – but with Halloween a week away, I feel it’s only appropriate to return to this supernatural comedy drama for a walk on the lighter side.

Fox on the run

The game is nearly up, the hounds are at my door. – Tom T. Hall

In First Impressions, we examined Kate’s character as revealed in the first hour of Lost. The conundrum of Kate’s characterization isn’t fully realized for several episodes, but one giant piece of the puzzle is finally divulged. And it’s a doozy.

Hour two begins by explaining Charlie’s sudden outpouring of companionable magnanimity. A flashback reveals the likable rock star is a drug addict. Prior to the crash, Charlie hides a stash of heroin in the first class bathroom. He doesn’t offer to find the front of the plane out of some overdeveloped sense of citizenship; he needs a fix. He needs it so bad he’s willing to face an unseen menace to get it.

Focus shifts to Walt, the ten-year-old son of Michael. While searching for his dog, Walt unearths a pair of handcuffs. Michael’s reaction to this discovery is unspoken but clear: who on board had handcuffs? Why? Is there more than one threat lurking on the island?

Jack, Kate, and Charlie return to find two man battling on the beach – Sayid, a former soldier in the Iraqi Republican Guard, and Sawyer, the razor-tongued Southern with a penchant for political incorrectness. With Michael’s help, Jack tears them apart. What is going on? Sawyer accuses Sayid of bringing down the plane because his ethnicity suggests terrorist in Sawyer’s narrow world view. Sayid takes exception to this unflattering estimation and hurls a few epitaphs of his own.

The embers of unease flare when Michael presents the handcuffs. Sawyer jumps all over this as proof of Sayid’s duplicity. Kate intervenes: Stop! She’s been having trouble making eye contact since handcuffs became the topic of discussion but has more luck with the subject of transceivers. The one they found is not functioning. Can anyone fix it? Sayid offers, which twists Sawyer into a belligerent bunch. Good-natured Hurley - who has a teeny, tiny weight problem - takes a stab at diplomacy by encouraging fellowship in the communal interest of self-preservation. Shut up, lardo is Sawyer’s democratic response. Jack confronts Sawyer and demands he give it break. Antagonism rolls off Sawyer. Whatever you say, doc. You’re the hero. The battle lines between Jack and Sawyer are now drawn with indelible dislike.

Boone enters the conversation. So, they found the cockpit. Any survivors? Jack doesn’t hesitate. No. Kate and Charlie exchange a complicit glance. Really, it’s more or less true. Why frighten people more than they already are?

Sayid confers with Kate. The transceiver is functioning but the battery is low and there’s no reception on the beach. They must get to higher ground. He peers passed her to the giant mossy mountains deep into the island. Kate stares up at them, her gaze dragging along what stands between the beach and those mountains – the monster-infested jungle. The look on her face says it all. Oh, man. Not there. Not again.

Kate approaches Jack, who is working on shrapnel man. Jack considers removing the shrapnel. Yesterday he refused to contemplate it but he thought the guy would be in a hospital by now. If he does nothing, the man will die. If he removes it and controls the bleeding and the guy doesn’t go into sepsis and he finds some antibiotics then, maybe . . . . Kate explains why she must re-enter the jungle. Jack is dumbfounded. You saw what that thing did to the pilot. Kate doesn’t disagree but they don’t know they’re any safer on the beach. Jack can’t leave his patient so he pleads with her to exercise extreme caution.

Sayid and Kate prepare for their hike. Combative siblings – pugnacious, pampered Shannon and earnest, exasperated Boone - crash the party. Shannon’s impromptu decision is her first contribution to the rescue effort, but rankling her stepbrother is the main motivator. Boone is swept in by a mix of rivalry and chivalry. Charlie, sufficiently fuzzy from a heroin hit, decides to tag along. Is he for real? That must be some drug.

They pass Sawyer, who’s perched on a scorched section of wreckage: scowling brow, five o’clock shadow, cigarette dangling from his mouth. A vision of swarthy insolence. He withdraws a note from his pocket. Whatever it says has the power to slice through the bravado. Malice melts away, replaced by a searing vulnerability few would believe. He refolds the letter, stuffs it back in his jeans, and chases the hiking party. A changed man? Kate voices her surprise when he struts into their midst like a presumptuous peacock. I’m a complex guy, sweetheart. Hmm. Probably not.

They trudge for miles and reach a sparsely wooded area. Sawyer thinks this is a good place to try the radio. Sayid disagrees. Naturally. They square off like pit bulls until a strange rumbling silences the vitriol. Something bowls through the tall grass towards them. Everyone bolts but Sawyer. He braces, pulls a handgun from his waistband, and shoots. The pop of gunfire halts them in their tracks. They pivot to find a white bear charging Sawyer. It collapses a few feet from his position. They circle back and stare. It’s a . . . polar bear. On an island. Near the equator.

Recovering from astonishment, Kate wants to know where Sawyer got the gun. Off the body of a U.S. Marshal. Kate blanches. How does he know the guy was a marshal? The guy’s badge. Seeing an opportunity to even the score, Sayid theorizes Sawyer is the prisoner. That’s how he knows about the marshal. Insults are exchanged, hostility mounts, and Kate grows more agitated. Suddenly she grabs the gun from Sawyer and aims at him. Everyone – except Sawyer - tenses. Has Kate finally snapped? No. She wants to take the gun apart. Sayid walks her through the steps. She tosses Sayid the clip and offers Sawyer the empty pistol. Sawyer clamps a hand on her wrist and yanks her to him. Machismo crackles. I know your type, he murmurs. Kate meets his sizzling gaze with disgust and something close to shame. I’m not so sure.

Unsettled, she wrenches away and flashes back to her last minutes on the plane, pre-crash. She is seated next to shrapnel man, pre-shrapnel. Pensively she stares out the window. The man notes she looks worried. I’d be worried too, I was you. When she doesn’t react, he needles her. There’s always an off-chance they’ll believe your story. He says this with such malicious satisfaction, we dislike him. When he smirks, victor to victim, we hate him. Kate takes a drink and we see what we didn’t see before – her hands are cuffed. He is the U.S. Marshal and she is the fugitive being escorted back to the states.

Turbulence rattles the plane. Kate turns to the marshal to ask one favor. He smiles the reptile smile of the morally superior. Before she can finish, the plane freefalls two hundred feet. Everything not strapped down – including people - smash ceiling to floor. A metal suitcase flies out of the overhead compartment and cracks the marshal on the head, knocking him cold. Oxygen masks deploy, people shriek, engines whine, klaxons screech. Kate’s handcuffs are bolted down; she can’t reach a mask. Panic-stricken, she manages to extract the key from the unconscious marshal and free herself, grabbing a mask and snapping it on. Throughout her struggle we hear the horrendous stress the airframe is under as it groans with metal fatigue. Without hesitation, she grasps another mask and secures it to the marshal’s bleeding head. Agonizing seconds tick by as the doomed plane convulses with strain. Finally the wing section sheers off.

Jiminy Cricket! How Kate doesn’t wet herself is beyond me. I need a valium just writing this.

Meanwhile, Jack is performing emergency surgery on the marshal. His assistant, Hurley, faints when Jack pulls the shrapnel free and blood flows. Then the marshal wakes while Jack is sewing him up. Jack cannot catch a break. Rather than shout with pain, the marshal grabs a fistful of Jack’s shirt and rasps, Where is she?

Ominous. Most rational people would clamor for morphine. This guy wakes in blinding agony, his one and only priority Kate. As dislikable as the marshal is, we can’t help wonder: how bad is Kate? Does she pose a threat to the welfare of the other castaways?

Halfway up the mountain, Sayid pulls out the transceiver and gives it a try. There’s reception but they’re getting feedback – another transmission is blocking their signal. A transmission emitting from the island. A man on the radio intones a series of numbers, followed by a frantic woman pleading in French. The male and female voices alternate in a loop. Sayid realizes the male iterations indicate how many times the message has been repeated. While he calculates that figure in terms of time, Shannon attempts to translate the woman’s urgent request: Please help me. I’m alone now . . . Someone please come . . . the others, they’re dead. It killed them. It killed them all. The battery dies and everyone lapses into a bleak silence. Sayid fills it with this bit of good news: the distress call has been transmitting for over sixteen years. Someone else was stranded here before them. A long time ago. Were they rescued? Not likely, as the message is still broadcasting. Guys, Charlie finally mutters, where are we?

And so ends the premiere episode. The enigma of the island is just beginning as is our understanding of Kate Austen. Hard to imagine resourceful, courageous Kate a criminal, but the clues were there. The first time we see her, she’s holding her wrist – her un-handcuffed wrist. Jack’s ironic statement that you’re not running now. Her inability to make eye contact when the handcuffs are discovered. Her discomfort with the animosity between Sayid and Sawyer, stoked by the existence of the handcuffs and all they imply.

We see now why the writers kept this from us. Such information would have warped our initial impression. We would have formed a completely different opinion of Kate had we known. Regardless, there are still flashes of the Kate we’ve come to know and trust. She doesn’t hesitate to place an oxygen mask on the helpless marshal when the plane took a swan dive, even though his treatment of her was reprehensible. Sawyer hasn’t exactly endeared himself to anyone, yet she went so far as to disarm him to prevent someone from coming to harm – because of her, however inadvertent her influence.

Without the filter of suspicion, Kate embodied the characteristics of the primary heroine: likable, loyal, gutsy, and sympathetic. Now with specter of guilt hanging over her head, we question her integrity. Is she a danger? Is the hiking party actually more at risk from Kate than from jungle monster? Guilt implies conscience. We want to believe whatever Kate did, she was justified. But is that the case? And will others share that feeling when they learn Kate’s background?

Find out in the next episode.

First Impressions

Courage is the ladder on which all the other virtues mount. - Clare Booth Luce

First impressions can be dicey things. Sometimes what you see is what you get. And sometimes you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. The former adage seems to apply fairly handily to Jack Shephard’s character in the premiere episode of Lost. On the surface, he’s a heroic guy, putting the needs of others first like you’d expect a doctor to do. Underneath he’s a genuine person with a couple of flaws and quirks, but nothing so deviant you rethink your first impression of him. Let’s look at the primary female lead of Lost and see if the writers employed the same strategy to unveil the castaway who is Kate Austen.

By the time Kate makes her entrance, Jack has already rallied other survivors to rescue a fellow passenger, applied a life-saving tourniquet to his leg, shielded the pregnant Claire from certain doom, assigned Hurley as protector, revived the unconscious Rose, and improvised a surgical kit with hopes of mending his own injury. All in ten minutes. Talk about your full day’s work. Jack is on the brink of accepting his limitations when Kate totters into his private copse. Grasping her wrist, she takes a moment to realize someone has called to her. Little wonder, considering her flight was torn to pieces by the devil’s own turbulence. That she isn’t curled into a tight ball drooling is a testament to her strength already.

Jack queries: Has she ever used a needle? Patched a pair of jeans? I need a little help. Dr. Shephard, master of understatement. Jack turns to expose the gouge carved into his torso. Kate closes her eyes as if to stave off a variety of things – fear, nausea, revulsion. The urge to faint. Her voice betrays a tremor as she repeats his request. Despite growing discomfort, Jack is ever the leader, guaranteeing she can stitch him up. No problem. He knows she can do it. If you wouldn’t mind.

That’s the clincher. He doesn’t want to put this on her, but he’s in a bad way. The guy who waded through wounded has an emergency of his own. And he’s in pain. He doesn’t voice this – we already understand he wouldn’t manipulate an innocent that way – so we hang on the next breath. We’re emotionally invested in Jack. We need him to be okay. We also feel for Kate. Stick a perfect stranger with a needle and watch flesh pull and blood pool? Sign me up! Sorry, no. Sooner stick a needle through my eye. But we expect more of Kate. We need her to succeed. If she does, so does Jack.

Reluctant and apprehensive, she agrees. How can she not? Human decency demands an affirmative response. Kate has a conscience, or at least a generous supply of mercy. She disinfects her hands with a mini bottle of vodka. When presented with the variety of thread in the sewing kit, she asks, “Any - uh…color preference?”

This is the first true break in tension for Jack, one he badly needs. We instantly love Kate for this. He manages to find the humor and assures her standard black will do. What’s more, this glimmer of personality shows (not tells) Kate uses humor as a coping mechanism, a skill that comes from experience. She not only has the backbone to get through this, she’s trying to ease Jack’s suffering as best she can.

Despite her own show of grit, she’s amazed by Jack’s composure. As she patches him up, he relays his first spinal surgery story (see Get Lost, Doc for details). How things went wrong. How he gave the fear five seconds – he counts – and it was gone. How he saved the girl and salvaged his career. Kate’s sure she would have run. Jack disagrees: I don’t think that’s true. You’re not running now.

Kate pauses to look at him. Says nothing. Humble? Or hiding something? For now, we are left to wonder.

Darkness falls as Jack kneels beside a critically injured passenger. The man has a piece of shrapnel the size of a wrench wedged in his chest. Kate asks Jack if the guy will make it. Jack looks up. Do you know him? She hesitates before answering. He was sitting next to me. The unnerving disclosure of someone who owes her life to the fickleness of fate? Or something more?

Jack and Kate rehash what they can about the crash. Jack remembers the initial turbulence, the sudden and devastating loss of altitude, then . . . nothing. He passed out. Kate was not so lucky. She was conscious for the whole thing – the drop, the tail section ripping away, the front of the plane dropping off. The audience is humbled by this, the courage it takes to endure such trauma and not descend into madness. Kate is rattled, but remarkably poised and level-headed. Admirable.

And tenacious. When Jack makes a case for finding the cockpit, ergo the transceiver, Kate recalls seeing smoke up in the valley following the crash. She insists she accompany him. It’s at this precise moment they hear indecipherable noises slam through the jungle. Everyone on the beach is paralyzed by its fury. Welcome to the tropical Twilight Zone. Could things get any worse?

Never say never. This sways neither Jack nor Kate from their commitment to find the transceiver the following morning. In light of the invisible jungle monster, Jack makes an effort to give Kate an out, but she won’t budge. He further recommends she get better shoes, forcing her to scavenge among the dead for decent hiking boots. The fact that she can – albeit with great remorse - further reinforces Kate’s mettle. Which is fortunate because she’s going to need it.

Their duo increases by one when Charlie Pace, a jittery Irish rocker, volunteers to join their search party. Jack isn’t thrilled to endanger more people, but Charlie is adamant. A sudden, torrential downpour pounds them during their trek. In the watery miasma, they stumble upon the front of the plane, nose up against a sprawling tree. Inside is a nightmare of dangling oxygen masks, drooping cables, and dislodged wall panels. Washed-out light leeches all but the color yellow - the color of danger. A portent? On this show? Count on it. They must fight gravity and the gruesome remains of ghost-white passengers still strapped to their seats to crawl up the passageway to the cockpit door.

Jack batters the locked handle with a fire extinguisher until the door flies open, ejecting the corpse of the co-pilot down the aisle between our terrified trio. Again, Jack tries to deter Kate from following him but she’s resolute. He pulls her up beside him and they scramble into the cockpit to explore the interior. Kate leans over the body of the pilot only to leap away when he sucks in a breath and regains consciousness. He’s alive! Jack assesses his injuries, declares he has a concussion, and pours some water down the pilot’s parched throat so he can speak.

The news it grim. Before the crash, the plane lost radio contact. The transponder went out. The crew decided to turn around and head for Fiji when the turbulence hit – one thousand miles off course. Any rescue effort will focus in the wrong direction.

Wonderful. At least they find the transceiver. While the pilot fiddles with it, Jack realizes Charlie’s missing. Kate drops back to the head of the cabin, calling Charlie’s name. He practically falls out of the lavatory when he bangs the door open, guilty as a kid caught shoplifting. Before Kate can question him, the bugle-like bellow of the jungle beast trumpets nearby. The fuselage trembles from its discordant, mechanical-monster approach. A giant shadow circles the plane, predator to prey.

Currently out of the loop, the pilot wants to know what the hell is going on and decides to have a look-see out the broken window on the nose. Great idea. You know this can’t end well.

The pilot leans forward, thankfully dumping the transceiver on a chair before sticking his head out the busted opening. A horrible metallic screech echoes through the plane before it shudders again. The bugle call competes with the hideous screams of the pilot as his body is jerked, not once, not twice, but three times through the opening before he springs upward out of sight like a puppet on a string. Immediately, a backlash of blood splashes the side window near Kate’s head.

Outside, the shadow creature attacks with such violence the fuselage wobbles and flops onto its belly. Jack clambers for the transceiver then all three blast out of the broken plane like cannonballs. Kate races through the rain with Jack and Charlie hot on her heels. The creature pursues, giving off all manner of ravenous, conveyer-belt clinking while remaining unseen. Divided by the gloom, Kate takes shelter in a fortress-like stand of branches and vines. Crazy with fear, she clings to the prison cell limbs, shaking and sobbing. Oh, God. Where’s Jack? She shrieks his name. Thunder is the only reply. Struggling for command, she starts to whimper: One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . using Jack’s trick to sooth the savage fear inside her.

After an agonizing commercial break, Kate emerges from her tree haven only to have Charlie shave ten years off her life by appearing out of nowhere. She’s so frightened she knocks him to the ground and demands to know where Jack is. Charlie explains they got separated. Kate is not happy with this explanation. She won’t abandon Jack. But there’s a certain gargantuan quality to this beast, Charlie warns. Fine. Don’t come. She’s already moving off without him. Resigned, Charlie rolls up and follows. The rain stops but an eerie blue fog hugs the muddy forest floor. Something catches Kate’s eye. When she approaches, she recognizes pilot wings lodged in the mud. She shifts her gaze to the reflection in a nearby puddle. The silhouette of a body lies cradled in the canopy of trees overhead.

Beyond horror, she and Charlie look up. What is that? Jack emerges from the thicket, unharmed, and informs them it’s the pilot. The very dead, mutilated pilot. At least thirty feet in the air. Charlie is dumbfounded. How does something like that happen?

So ends the first hour of Lost. Not exactly The Waltons, is it?

What have we learned so far about Kate? She’s no Mary Ellen, that’s for sure. Her decision to stop and help Jack sew up his wound tells us boatloads about her – she’s tough, empathetic, and willing to put herself out there when another human being is hurting. She’s courageous enough to enter a jungle harboring a big nasty and steadfast enough to go back in when one of their search party goes missing. She’s also adaptable. Though out of her mind with fear, Kate had the sense to apply Jack’s advice and get through a hairy moment. Jack set the bar high in terms of character, but Kate bears up well under the pressure.

Now, what don’t we know about her? What’s missing in her character sketch that we got almost immediately from Jack? We don’t know her characterization yet. We learn her character first – what she’s made of vs. who she is. In Jack’s case we glean his characterization almost immediately – dedicated doctor - while the nuts and bolts that make up the man slowly unwind through the engine of story. Kate’s profession, her station in life, are still a mystery. Why?

What don’t the writers want us to know about her? Would it alter our perception in a negative way? Up till this point, we’re feeling pretty positive about Kate. This woman has steel in her spine. Her cover shouts gutsy, ferocious, loyal, compassionate. I’d read that book, give it glowing reviews. What could possibly alter my opinion, make me throw the book against the wall?

Hints have been subtly inserted. She was holding her wrist the first moment she walked on scene. An injury? It didn’t affect her ability to stitch Jack up. As she worked the needle and thread, she told Jack she would have run in his shoes. Jack’s response: You’re not running now. Her silence sits like the elephant in a room. Later when Jack asks if she knows the man with shrapnel in his chest, she doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she states, He was sitting next to me. Coincidence? Or something more sinister?

That answer in the next post.