After one-quarter of a year on hiatus, Lost kicks off with what looks like the opening to an old Duran Duran video. There's a woman sitting on a beach, with the light rapidly draining out of the western sky. What's that you're holding in your hands as you sit on the sand, possibly saving a prayer 'til the morning after? It's some sort of leather case. It looks like the kind of case that heroin addicts -- at least, the kind who have their shit together enough to keep their needles nice and tidily organized -- keep their works in. So maybe these flashbacks will show us how Juliet's former life crossed paths with Charlie? A solemn bass note plunked on an unseen piano turns out to be Juliet's Theme. Dum. Dum. It's strangely compelling, but given that I have a seven-month-old daughter, any music that isn't "The Wheels on the Bus" seems fresh and exotic to me. Juliet stares at the leather case, and out at the gentle waves breaking on the shore. She looks perplexed. Hard to believe, I know. She gets up, gathers her jacket, and leaves.
She's now in a dim hallway. What light there is comes from a row of flickering fluorescent lights on the ceiling. It looks like a hospital in a slasher movie. You know: it's the sequel, which begins right after the last one ended, and the hero from the previous movie is recovering in one of these low-security, low-light places, like the hospital can't afford to change half the burnt-out light bulbs, and still no one believes her story despite the huge body count, and then the murderer comes in and kills her before the opening credits? This is that hospital. Adding to the creepiness, as Juliet sashays down the corridor, is Ethan Rom coming out one of the hallway doors, ready with a shit-eating smile on his considerably heavier cheeks. Juliet, cold and icy even in her flashbacks, barely acknowledges him as she continues on her way.
The room she enters has a record player, the LP spinning away with the needle long since finished playing any music. Juliet shuts it off and sits by a sleeping woman, head wrapped up in -- well, I don't know what they're called, but when a television program shows you one, you're supposed to know this woman has been through chemo.
Juliet blinks back tears and unzips the leather case, which contains syringes and vials of a clear yellowish fluid. The sound of Juliet blinking back tears wakes the sleeping woman, just in time for Juliet to gently chide her for falling asleep with candles burning. The woman flicks on a light, and Juliet says they don't have to keep doing this.