They're wrapped up in their game of chess, when one glances over at a piece of equipment that has a blinking red light and a computer screen that reads "Electromagnetic Anomaly Detected." "How long has it been doing that?" he asks. The other guy runs over to the screen, and then starts frantically flipping through some binder looking for something, while the first guy starts spazzing: "That's it, isn't it? We missed it again..." Then an alarm starts beeping, and the second guy goes to another computer, where he starts typing. I swear to God, if he's typing a set of numbers and then hitting "Execute," I'm done. But he's not, and the first guy suddenly realizes that this is not a false alarm. "Just shut up and call!" yells his colleague. Man #1 grabs a yellow telephone and picks up the receiver.
We cut to a bedroom nightstand with a ringing black telephone. And probably more important, a picture in a frame, the same one Desmond had, of him and Penelope. But we don't see anyone's face yet; they're saving that because they think viewers are stupid. A hand gropes for the phone and picks it up. "Hello," says I-wonder-who-it-could-be. "Ms. Widmore?" says the guy. "Yes," she says. But we don't see her face yet; they're saving that because they think viewers are stupid. "It's us. I think we found it."
The camera pans over to "reveal" a stunned Penelope. She doesn't say anything. So the cliffhanger this summer is: just how does Penelope have such great hair even when she's woken up in the middle of the night?
Although I'm sure that'll be another mystery dropped next season. Until then, thanks, everyone for reading and posting on the boards, thanks to Sars and Joe R for editing, thanks to ABC for turning the exercise of broadcasting a simple television show into as much of a cynical mindgame as anything Dharma could come up with -- what with the screwy schedule, four clip shows this season, few-minutes-past-the-hour running times, crass projects like books and websites that you like to call "interactive" but are really just excuses to try to grab more advertising revenue -- and most of all, my wife. Perhaps someday I'll solve the mystery of why she puts up with me.