"In the future everybody will be world famous for fifteen minutes." --Andy Warhol
Rising from the depths of sleep, Marty McFly habitually opened his eyes for a moment to glance at the face of his clock for the time. 7:44AM. He rolled over and closed his eyes again, already half asleep.
Not time yet, he thought drowsily. No school today.
And then he remembered.
At his realization, Marty bolted up in bed, his eyes wide open, turning to stare at the clock in disbelief. "What the hell!" he gasped. This was Saturday, March 14th, right? A quick glance at the calender above his desk showed him he was correct. If that was the case, then the alarm was supposed to have gone off at 7:00AM--forty-four minutes earlier!
"Christ, I'm gonna be late!" Marty cried, throwing the covers back and leaping out of bed. He grabbed a pair of jeans off the floor, the first shirt he saw, and tried pulling both on at the same time. His simultaneous struggle merely caused him to topple to the floor. Cursing softly, Marty got back to his feet and forced himself to do one thing at a time.
Once his clothes were on him, Marty threw open his bedroom door and raced down the hall, for the front door.
"Marty?"
Lorraine McFly's slightly puzzled, slightly concerned voice stopped him. Marty paused, his hand on the doorknob.
"Ma, what is it? I'm late!"
His mother, standing in the doorway to the kitchen in a bathrobe, a cup of coffee in one hand, pointed to his bare feet. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Marty glanced down, saw what he'd missed, and nodded, once. "Thanks!" he called over his shoulder, already rushing back to his room. He grabbed his sneakers, pulling them on without socks, and realized he had nearly forgotten something else, too, something very important, in his rush to leave the house--his guitar.
That would look real good McFly, showing up to an audition without your instrument, he thought, grabbing his guitar case from off the floor. Marty backtracked to the front door, where his mother now stood watching him.
"Good luck, hon," she said.
"Thanks," Marty said, preoccupied. He got out of the house and headed for his truck, parked by the curb. When he got to his vehicle and tried to open it, the doors wouldn't budge. Locked. Marty fished around in his pockets for the keys. Nothing.
"Dammit!" he hissed, setting his guitar down and booking it back inside. Marty didn't even glance at his mother as he flew past her and back into his room. His keys were lying on his desk, where he had thrown them the night before after a date with Jennifer. Marty snatched them up, his eyes involuntarily catching view of the clock. 7:49AM.
"Shit!" He ran back outside, unlocked the truck, nearly threw his guitar in the passenger seat, then ran around to the other side of the truck and got inside. The vehicle, thankfully, started without a hitch. Marty peeled away from the curb, reaching the end of the street in twenty seconds flat.
Being early on a Saturday morning, Marty took enough time to make sure there were no cars coming, then rolled through the stop sign. He hung a sharp left, the tires squealing, his seat belt locking, onto Hill Street, where it was a nearly straight, four mile shot through the middle of town, around a few corners, and to the local college two miles away from downtown Hill Valley, where the audition was being held.
Traffic was light at this hour of the morning, for which Marty was eternally grateful. He traveled ten miles over the speed limit, easily. He had gone only about a mile when he hit a traffic light. The light was red, but since there were no other cars at the four-way intersection, Marty hardly gave it a thought and ran right through the light.
He had just reached the other side of the intersection when he heard a sound that nearly caused his blood to freeze--it was the sound of police sirens. For one brief moment, Marty could pretend that they weren't for him. Then he saw the white cop car, lights ablaze, directing behind him.
"This can't be happening!" Marty moaned, slowing down and pulling off to the side of the road. His heart pounded, not necessarily at the idea of getting a ticket, but of the idea on the time it would take. Marty cast a look at the clock in his dashboard. 7:54AM.
The police car pulled in behind him and stopped. The cop took his time getting out and moseyed on over to Marty's truck. Marty already had the window rolled down and started to speak before the cop did.
"Yeah, I know I ran a red light, I'm really sorry but I was in a big hurry and can you just give me the ticket and I'll take care of it, okay?" he said in a rush.
The cop--a dark-haired middle-aged man who looked as if the last place he wanted to be was working on a Saturday morning--raised an eyebrow at Marty's flood of words. "Nice to hear that," he commented flatly. "You forgot to mention that you were also goin' about 50 in a 35 mile an hour zone."
Marty nodded hard. "Okay, fine. Can you just please write me a ticket? I'm late for an audition!"
The cop looked like he could've cared less. "License and registration," he said.
Marty started to reach for his wallet, in the back pocket of his jeans, when he suddenly remembered that it was at home on his desk, still. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the curses at the back of his throat, then opened his eyes and forced a smile on his face for the cop. "I left it at home, my license," he said, already reaching for his glove box. "But I do have the registration and I can give you any other information you need."
The cop snorted softly as Marty riffled around through maps, cassette tapes, fast food coupons, and other miscellaneous junk for the registration to his truck. "Driving without a license is against the law, young man."
Marty gritted his teeth against the cop's words, locating the registration at last. "I'm sorry," he said, passing the paper over to the man. "But, really, I'm in a big hurry and--"
"Are you Martin McFly?" the cop asked, examining the registration.
"Yeah, that's me."
"McFly," the cop muttered. "You don't happen to be related to a George McFly? The one who writes those science-fiction books?"
"He's my father," Marty said impatiently, wondering how much time had passed since he'd been pulled over. "Now, uh..." Marty leaned forward to read the guy's name tag. "Officer Reese, can you please write me a ticket and let me go?"
Reese looked up from the registration, his eyes narrowed. "Do you think because your father is a famous writer that you can get away with special treatment from the law?"
Marty sputtered, truly shocked at the turn the conversation was taking. "What?! No! It's just that I'm a big hurry and--"
The cop pointed to him, frowning. "You wait here while I call this into HQ."
Marty drummed his fingers on the wheel, fuming silently as the cop walked slowly to his car and spoke for a couple minutes on the radio. By the time he returned to the truck, Marty was seriously considering making a run for it and screw the consequences.
"Here," Officer Reese said, handing Marty back his registration, along with a ticket. "Don't let me see you breaking any more laws, or you won't be getting away so nicely."
Marty glanced at the ticket for a second, noticing he was being written up for running a red light and speeding. The cost of the charges seemed way too much--and Marty had a feeling that he was purposely being overcharged, too--but he didn't have time to argue it now. He merely nodded to the cop, started his truck up, and pulled back onto the road. He was now officially late to his audition; it was 8:04AM.
One mile from the college, the unthinkable happened. Marty was turning a corner when he heard what, to his ears, sounded like a gunshot. The noise immediately set his heart to pounding even harder than it already was, and he could almost feel the color drain from his face. A second later, Marty realized exactly what the noise was as his truck suddenly pulled hard to the right. He slammed on the breaks, holding the wheel tightly, and pulled the car over to the sidewalk.
"No," he muttered as the car stopped. Marty shut it off and threw open his door, jumping out and rounding the front of the truck to see what he had suspected--his right front tire had blown out.
"Shit!" he swore, slamming a fist down on his hood in frustration. There was no way in hell he could make the audition at all now! Unless....
A couple boys were on skateboards, ten feet down the sidewalk. Marty ran over to them. "Hey, kids, stop!" he yelled.
The boys turned around--they looked about 11 or 12. "What do you want?" one of them asked.
Marty grabbed one of the boards from the kid closest to him, nearly sending him to the ground. "Whoa, what're you doing?!" the kid demanded angrily.
"I'll give it back to you later," he called over his shoulder, already rushing back to his truck. Marty opened the passenger door of his truck, took his guitar case out, slammed the door, and started skateboarding towards the college while juggling the awkward piece of cargo. The sidewalks were all but deserted, so Marty was able to pick up quite a bit of speed, even with the guitar under his arm.
He was moving along at a near breakneck clip, several blocks from the college's music building, almost there--until he took a tight corner and suddenly slammed into someone, hard. The force of the blow not only knocked the pedestrian off their feet, it launched Marty flying through the air to take a hard landing on the cement--and sent his guitar out of his arms and a few feet away on the sidewalk. It made a sick cracking noise on impact.
Hardly giving one thought to the person he'd hit, or the own scrapes and bruises he'd picked up, Marty got shakily to his feet and ran to the side of his instrument. He'd only got it last Christmas, replacing his old one, and it was almost like a baby to him. Kneeling with a wince from his aching knees, Marty examined the now-dented case and was about to pop it open when a sickeningly familiar voice stopped him.
"McFly!"
Marty froze, then turned slowly around to see his high school vice principal, Mr. Strickland. The older man was slowly getting to his feet, coffee spilled across the front of his otherwise spotless suit. Well, not quite spotless--the knees of his slacks were now torn and dirtied from the fall he'd taken to the sidewalk.
Marty couldn't've hit a worse person unless it was Biff Tannen himself.
Strickland glared at him as he gingerly brushed himself off from the fall. "What are you doing skateboarding like that?" he demanded. "Don't you know it's a no-skate zone?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Strickland, but--"
Strickland cut him off. "I could sue you for this, you slacker," he threatened.
Marty gulped. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Strickland," he tried again. "But my car broke down an' I'm already late to an audition with my band--"
Strickland snorted softly. "You're still wasting your time on foolish dreams?" He shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. "I would have thought you wised up in college."
Marty felt his temper stir at the insults, but before he could be given a chance to defend himself, a police car happened by. Strickland saw it and wasted no time in flagging it down. The car had hardly stopped before Strickland was at the window, rattling away. "Excuse me, officer, but this young man here was skateboarding recklessly and nearly killed me when he ran into me."
Marty felt his face pale, but he paled even more as the cop pulled over and stepped out of the car.
It was Officer Reese, whom he had seen only minutes earlier.
The officer raised an eyebrow at the sight of Marty. "Well, well, Mr. McFly, we meet again. Mind telling me what you're doing skateboarding now in a no-skate zone?"
Marty sighed, knowing he was never going to make that audition now. This was definitely not his day.
"...And then the cop slapped me with another ticket for skateboarding--and that kid who's board I borrowed came by and accused me of stealing it from him! They nearly hauled me to the police station!" Marty paused for breath. "And I didn't even tell you about what a nightmare it was to get my car towed!"
Doc Brown grunted, making some fine adjustments to his months old project--a holographic projector. He had actually made great strides of headway the past few months, and was almost done with it--perhaps a few more weeks was all it would take before the device could be installed in the time machine circuitry. Marty had come over mid-afternoon, quite by surprise, and wasted little time in launching into the story about his morning from hell. "What did your parents have to say about the matter?" Doc asked, pausing in his work.
Marty sighed, poking at some of the miscellaneous electronic components scattered across Doc's worktable. "I got one hell of a lecture, that's for sure. But that doesn't bother me as much as what the guys in the band said when I finally got to the audition, an hour late. They chewed me out hard, saying I botched the audition for all of us and if I was this unreliable...then maybe I shouldn't be in the band."
Marty finished in a whisper. Doc--who'd been peering at his invention--looked up sharply at the change in tone. Marty was staring down at the tabletop, poking at a large green wire. After a moment he cleared his throat and looked up. "At least my guitar wasn't busted--just snapped a couple strings."
Doc set down his tools. "I'm sorry, Marty," he said softly. "I know how important that audition was to all of you."
Marty shrugged. "Well, it doesn't have to turn out the way it did...." He let the remark trail off. Doc caught what he wasn't saying immediately.
"Absolutely not!" he said firmly. "You are not going to use one of the time machines."
"Why not, Doc?" Marty's voice took on a desperate tone of pleading. "I know exactly what I'd have to do to make sure things didn't turn out this way--just slip in my room and make sure my alarm clock is set right! It'll take two seconds, and I--I mean, the past me--won't notice!
"No," Doc said again, Marty now having his full attention. "Aside from the usual risks, I am against it morally." As Marty opened his mouth to speak again, Doc rushed ahead, wanting to explain his side. "One cannot right every wrong in their life through time travel. Sometimes bad things are meant to happen, lessons have to be learned--or perhaps what seems to be an end is really a beginning to something better."
Marty snorted softly. "Spare me all that," he muttered. "This audition would've been our big break if I didn't have to screw it up. Doc, because of this morning I may never get anywhere in the music business!"
Doc did his best to keep a straight face at the words, not betraying what he in fact knew. When he had gone into the future, a few years earlier, to have the train modified with a hover conversion, he had done a little checking up on Marty--strictly from a distance, of course. What he had found out was, due to the race Marty had never had with Douglas Needles, Marty's future had turned out just fine. Jennifer and Marty had married in the early 1990's (and not at the "Chapel O' Love"!) and had a son and daughter born sometime in the late 1990's. Marty wasn't a world famous rock musician, as he still dreamed he would be, but he was a well-respected and successful songwriter--and he would, on occasion, perform at concert openers for other musical groups. He, Jennifer, and their kids were happy, healthy, and bore no resemblance anymore to the people they'd been before their early time travels.
According to the research Doc had conducted on his trip to the future, the Pinheads would break up soon after this point in time--and it would be a crucial point in orchestrating Marty's future career. Doc Brown knew that if things were to progress the way he had seen from the start, Marty could not dare change the events of today!
But, unfortunately, he couldn't tell the teen the reasons why--knowledge about one's own future was far too dangerous. Doc looked at him, sitting at the work table and pouting very much like a little kid. "Don't worry so much," Doc finally said. "Your future turns out just fine."
Marty rolled his eyes. "Yeah, maybe it did when my alarm went off on time! I'm probably on a straight road to nowhere right now, flipping burgers."
Doc gave up. If Marty wanted to be so pessimistic, then he could go ahead and be pessimistic. But.... "You are not changing this event with time travel!" he said firmly.
Marty sighed softly, glancing at the DeLorean. "Like I could now...."
His comment referred to the new security precautions Doc had installed in the time machines and the lab itself. After Marty, Jennifer, Jules, and Verne had taken an extremely risky (and unapproved) trip to Jamaica of 1677 to see pirates up close and personal a month ago, Doc had finally decided that it was time to do something about protecting the time machines from too-tempted family members and friends.
Doc had gone all out, installing locks on every door of the barn-cum-lab that could only be opened by Doc or Clara, once they'd pressed their fingers on the identipads from the future that Doc had bought for this purpose. Once inside the building, they would need to decode a motion detector (which only the two of them knew the password to). Meanwhile, a couple security cameras would be trained on their every move. And finally, in both the DeLorean and the train in the cellar, Doc had installed a system to where a numeric code would have to be punched in if one even wanted to drive either machine--let alone travel through time. Even the DeLorean's car keys couldn't start the engine without the code properly put in.
His wife, Clara, had asked more than once if he wasn't being a little too paranoid about the security--but Doc knew how smart both Jules and Verne could be if they put their minds to it, and if both combined their efforts into borrowing a time machine for some risky trip.... Doc thought the precautions he was taking were actually rather mild. And he was almost certain he'd thought of everything to deter his kids--as well as Marty--from actually being able to take a time machine out without Doc knowing of it loud and clear in some way.
"Reasons like this are precisely why the security was installed," Doc reminded Marty, turning his attention towards his invention again. "The temptation to sneak in here in the middle of the night and take a quick journey though time is exactly why I've made it so difficult to get in here and at the time machines."
"I'm not one of the boys, though," Marty said. "I've time traveled before, a lot more than them. I know the risks--hell, I've even seen some of the results of why you shouldn't do some stuff and...why are you shaking your head?"
"You still don't understand, Marty," Doc explained, not without patience. "I'm not worried that you could cause a great paradox from undoing this little bump in your life--but I believe that this incident had to happen, and to fix it would do you a great disservice."
Marty stared at him skeptically, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. "What about all those speeches you've given over the years on how nothing is fixed and the idea of destiny is purely a 'romantic concept'?"
Doc was quiet for a moment as he considered Marty's words. He didn't believe in the idea that certain events were meant to happen, perse, but without certain things happening in one's past, the future would not be the same. And if Marty's future was to remain the same good, successful one that Doc had seen, then this incident of today had to happen. Doc was certain about that.
"Let me put it this way, then," Doc said carefully. "What occurred this morning will play an important part in your future, though you cannot possibly see what role that would be right now."
Marty perked up a little at the mention of his future. "Tell me, then."
"No," Doc said instantly, picking up his soldering tool in hopes of diverting the conversation. "No one should know too much about their own future."
"I already know that Jen and I are supposed to get married and have two kids," Marty pointed out.
"But nothing is set for good," Doc said, keeping his eyes on his project. "The future is in a constant state of flux from our actions in the present. Knowing things about your future could make the future you see impossible."
Marty didn't say anything to that. Doc, knowing very well he wore a confused look on his face without having to look, hurried to explain. "Since 1955 I knew that I would meet you and that we would become good friends," Doc said. "What if I had hurried to rush that friendship, or start it sooner than it had originally? And if that was the case, what it something occurred between us that caused us to never be friends, so I never showed you my time machine--then you would have never gone back and met me in '55 in the first place! It's a perfect illustration how knowledge from your future can be dangerous."
"But, Doc, then why'd you take me to 2015 a couple years ago?" Marty wanted to know. "I mean, you had me impersonate my future son!"
Doc sighed, expecting that question. "That was....different," he finished lamely.
"Oh? How's that?"
"I didn't think it through very well--the implications, I mean," Doc said, looking up again. "And I couldn't let my best friend's life go straight to hell when I saw a way it could be fixed."
"Exactly!" Marty cried, as if this was the answer he wanted to hear. "And letting me use the DeLorean to make sure what happened today doesn't happen will make sure of that!"
Doc Brown rubbed his forehead, quickly tiring of this circular discussion. "The answer, Marty, is no," he said, a trifle sharply. "Now please, drop the subject. I'm trying to put the final touches on this project."
Marty sighed deeply. "Fine," he muttered, sliding off the stool. "I'd better go home now, anyway. I told my parents I'd only be gone a little while and if I'm late, they'll be ticked at me." Marty trudged towards the door, picking up his skateboard from where it was propped up against the wall, then exited without another word.
Doc watched him leave the lab, then sighed again. He felt a little bad, he had to admit--what good was time travel if one couldn't help out their friends and family once in a while?--but Doc knew he was correct in what he'd told Marty, and that it was for the best. Mucking around in the future--specifically, your future--was just as dangerous as going to the past. Marty would get over this disappointment, Doc was sure, and eventually forget his foolish idea on going back to rearrange things in his recent past.
Putting the entire conversation behind him, Doc leaned forward and turned his full attention back on the electronics before him.
Marty moved slowly as he approached the Brown property from the back. He blended in quite well with the shadows, having taken the time to dress all in black--black jeans, black sweater, even an old pair of sneakers he'd painted black that evening to sacrifice to this mission. Being seen was the least of his current worries, however. As Marty finally broke through the woods and onto the grass that made up the back lawn of Doc's place, he was still working his mind furiously over the not-so-easy problem of breaking into the lab.
Marty paused at the treeline, staring at the farmhouse five hundred feet away. All lights were off, as far as he could tell, save for the porch light at the back of the house. Marty shifted his eyes to the lab, which was also dark. Good. He stepped into the yard, hurrying as fast as he could. Marty wished there wasn't a full moon out, or that the moon could have at least waited until closer to dawn to rise. Unfortunately, such was not the case and he felt terribly exposed out there in the open. It was a relief to have the barn to slink behind moments later.
Marty stopped at a window that was on the other side of the building from the house, out of view from anyone who would happen to be up at this hour and glance outside. He looked into the lab.
Next to the door at the other end of the room was a faintly illuminated security box. Marty squinted,just able to read the "ACTIVATED" word that was displayed in digital-type on the LCD face. He was about to look away when his eyes happened on the large fusebox next to the security box. The door of the fuse box was slightly ajar.
Marty's eyes widened at the sight, then abruptly narrowed again as he thought. If I shorted out the power, or was able to access the fuses in some way and shut 'em off, I could get in the lab with no problem, take the DeLorean to this morning, and fix what I need to!
Easy in concept; more difficult in reality. Marty stood there, thinking hard, when he heard a noise from nearby. He froze, straining his ears. It sounded like footsteps, heading his way. Marty dare not move until he heard a soft beep from nearby and a computerized voice said, "Identity confirmed. Access permitted." Then, Marty watched through the window as the door was opened by Doc Brown himself. Marty ducked back from the window before Doc could see him.
He stood there, frozen, for a full minute. Then curiosity overwhelmed him and Marty cautiously raised his head enough to peer over the windowsill and into the lab. Doc had switched the lights on and was on his knees, rolling up a worn floor rug that concealed the trap door to the cellar,where the train was stored. Marty watched as Doc lifted the trap door and vanished down the stairs, pulling the door in the floor shut behind him.
Marty reacted then purely on instinct--he hurried around the building, to the door, and slipped inside. The door wasn't locked anymore now; therefore, Marty didn't have to press his hand to the smooth metal plate beside the knob. Quickly--and quietly--Marty slipped over to the DeLorean, tried the door and--surprise!--it opened smoothly. He slipped inside, shut the door at his back, then managed to squeeze himself in the small space behind the seats to wait out Doc's presence, lying on his side with his knees digging into the passenger seat painfully.
Marty had been waiting, slowly losing feeling in his legs, for about five minutes when he heard Doc return to the main room of the lab. Marty expected the scientist to turn out the lights and leave the lab again. Instead, he heard footsteps approaching his hiding place and saw Doc's shadow coming towards the DeLorean. Cursing under his breath, Marty felt around his tight hiding place for something--anything--to conceal him from view. His fingers came into contact with an old wool blanket near his feet, which he promptly yanked over his head, just as he heard the DeLorean's driver side door pop open.
Doc took a seat in the driver's seat, shutting the time machine's door. Marty suddenly had a most uneasy feeling about that. He pulled the blanket down enough to peer over the edge of it, treating himself to a view of the back of the driver's seat. What heard was more telling--the sound of a six digit code being punched in somewhere, followed by the familiar bleep of the time circuit control switch turning on. Marty swallowed hard as he heard Doc punch in a series of numbers and letters, likely programming the time circuits with a destination.
Where the hell is he going? Marty wondered. A part of him was strongly urging that he speak up now and alert Doc of his presence--but another even stronger part of him knew he'd gone too far now to change things. If Doc found him in the DeLorean, things would get mighty messy for Marty--and, hey, Doc was probably only making a quick errand. From what he'd seen of the scientist from the window of the lab, Doc was wearing his normal 1987 attire. Had he been planning to spend a prolonged period in another time, Marty was certain he would have changed clothes to fit in better.
So Marty stay put and stay silent as he heard the DeLorean's engine come to life, the outside doors open, and the car start to move out of the lab and into the night. Doc turned the hover conversion on shortly after leaving the building and the car took to the air. Marty felt them accelerate quickly, heard the triple sonic booms and saw the blinding flash of light....and then struggled to lift his head to see out the window on where they now were.
He didn't have much luck with that. With the cramped position he was hiding in, he'd be lucky if he could get out of the car when Doc was done with...whatever. All Marty was able to tell was that, wherever they were, it was still dark outside.
After a few minutes of flying, Doc finally touched the car down. Marty could see light now--definitely electric lights of some kind. All that told him was they were somewhere that had electricity.
Doc stopped the car, shut the time circuits off, then got out and locked it up. Marty waited a minute, then managed, amid groans and popping joints, to sit up. He caught sight of Doc vanishing around the corner of a building.
They were in an alley of some kind, but beyond that Marty had no idea where--or, rather, when, they were. He crawled into the passenger seat, though he knew it was damned risky, and turned the time circuits on. He was stopped by a message flashing across the digital displays.
PLEASE ENTER PIN
"What's this--a bank?" Marty muttered. He suddenly remembered hearing the beeps of Doc punching in a six digit number. Marty groaned softly, struggling to remember the sounds of the beeps. It sounded just like a touch tone telephone keypad. When he was younger, he'd taken great amusement in annoying his brother and sister while they were on the phone by punching in songs using the numbers. If he could only remember which tones corresponded with which numbers....
Marty closed his eyes for a moment, thinking hard, then gave up with that line of thought and opened his eyes to give the PIN a few tries, all the while thinking like Doc might've while deciding which six-digit code would go in. Knowing Doc's obsession with time, he started out with possible dates.
031987. No. 101985. No. 102685. Nope, that wasn't it either.
Marty stared in disappointment at the digital display, flashing the message of ACCESS DENIED. Then inspiration struck like, well, a bolt of lighting! Carefully, Marty put in 111255. He held his breath, then suddenly the message changed to ACCESS GRANTED.
"November 12, 1955," Marty said softly, smiling. "The Doc is nothing if not predictable!"
A moment later, the message was replaced by the time, date, and location that the display was meant for. Marty read it once, twice, then shook his head in disbelief at what he saw.
MAR 15, 2017, 0611AM
MAR 15, 1987, 12:36AM
HILL VALLEY, CA, USA
"2017?" Marty said under his breath. "Why the hell is Doc right here, right now?"
Well, Marty supposed it didn't matter. Wherever Doc had gone off to, he likely didn't plan to be long if he'd left the time machine in the present instead of sending it ahead a couple hours or something. Tempted as he was to explore the future, Marty was even more tempted to finish what he had come to the lab to start.
Sliding over to the driver's seat, Marty quickly put in a new destination time--March 14, 1987, 5AM. He quickly made a note of the current time of day, then started a search for the spare DeLorean keys. Marty knew Doc had some in the DeLorean, having once heard the scientist explain the potential disaster it would be if the keys were lost on a trip through time, essentially stranding the time travelers. Granted, getting into a locked DeLorean to access the spare keys wouldn't be a picnic, but it would be a hell of a lot easier than attempting to hotwire the car and not create damage to the time circuits while poking around with the car's circuitry.
Marty checked the glove box, the space behind the seats, under the seats, then finally hit paydirt when he located the spare set under the mat on the floor of the driver's side. Another amused smile touched Marty's lips, recalling the scientist's habit of hiding spare keys under doormats from years past.
Marty wasted no time now in starting the car up and taking to the sky. All he'd have to do is make sure the DeLorean got back to where Doc had left it, at the time Marty had taken it, and Doc would never know about this at all!
Marty grinned as he raced up to 88, then reappeared over the city thirty years and a day before. He quickly steered the car over to his neighborhood, then boldly touched it down on the street a block from his house. It was dark out, most people were sleeping in on Saturday, so Marty felt few qualms as he left the car locked on the street. He ran down the sidewalk to his house, sneaking around through the backyard to his bedroom window.
Marty sent a prayer of thanks heavenward as he tried sliding the window open and it responded with nary a squeak. He had a habit, perhaps a bad one, of keeping his window unlocked. But whenever Marty actually thought about flipping the latch over, he'd think about times like now when having an unlocked window was a blessing in disguise.
Not to mention, he sometimes forgot his housekeys if he wasn't driving anywhere.
Marty looked into the room as best he could before hopping inside. A streetlight at his back helped to illuminate a little of his bedroom, enough for Marty to see the major obstacles on the ground that could trip him. Marty paused again as he was about to hop inside, staring at his past self lying asleep in bed, sprawled on his stomach with his face turned towards the window. Marty took a deep breath to steady himself at the sight--he didn't think he would ever get used to seeing himself in person. It was such a strange, unusual experience and always gave Marty a very eerie sensation of deja vu.
Marty purposely tore his eyes away from the bed and lifted himself up, over the windowsill,and into the room. His eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the room and he made his way around the end of the bed, over to the built-in shelves at the head of his bed where his alarm clock sat.
Once he had gotten home from his disaster of a morning and before he had gone over to Doc Brown's to vent and drop heavy hints on what he wanted to do, Marty had inspected his clock to see why the alarm had not gone off. What he had found was that he had not pushed the switch all the way over to right; therefore the alarm had never been set in the first place. All Marty had to do was click that switch into place and everything else would fall into place as well. Simple.
Marty leaned over the bed, stretching his arm over to the clock. His fingers were touching the switch, about to flip it over the rest of the way, when the Marty on the bed suddenly stirred and rolled over. The Marty from the not-so-distant future immediately panicked and drew his arm back, dropping to the floor close to the bed with a faint thump. He held his breath as he heard his other self shifting in bed, then grow still and resume the slow, deep breathing that spoke of sleep.
Marty stayed where he was for a minute, waiting for his heart to stop pounding so hard. Once he had regained control of his nerves, Marty felt like a fool. I don't remember waking up at all until almost eight in the morning, he thought. I shouldn't have to jump at shadows now!
But Marty knew that was false reasoning. Maybe he didn't wake up on his own originally, but if he accidentally made a loud noise, it could very well change that.
Marty got to his feet again, silently leaning over the bed to try again. A terribly thought of losing his balance and falling on top of himself came into his head and Marty shuddered at the mere idea, struggling to push it out of his mind. Holding his breath, and bracing himself against the wall with one hand, Marty flicked the switch all the way over. A grin slowly spread across his face as a feeling of Destiny Fulfilled came over him.
"It's okay now," he breathed in hardly a whisper. Marty backed away from the bed and retraced his steps to the window. He was a couple feet away from it, about to jump out and be home free, when another sound from nearby caught his attention. It was the sound of a door opening in the hallway and soft footsteps approaching from down the hall.
Marty's eyes flew to his door, ajar a couple inches. Two inches too much. Again, he hit the floor and this time executed a somewhat clumsy roll under the bed. Marty stifled a cry of pain as he slammed right into something hard and heavy, causing his arm to ache terribly. As he lay there amid dust and pain, struggling to not sneeze or groan, Marty heard the footsteps halt and saw, from his position under the bed, the door open a few more inches. Marty squinted at the shadows just outside his room and saw his mother's slippers standing there.
Great, he thought. She better just be checking on me on her way to the kitchen or something and not because I made a noise in here!
The door started to shut after a moment, then stopped suddenly and opened wider. Marty breathed in sharply as his mother walked into the room. He leaned forward, allowing himself a better look at what she was doing. Lorraine had her nightgown on, a glass of water in one hand, and a somewhat irritated frown on her face. Marty watched as she walked over to the window, set her glass down on the nightstand, then shut it.
"Marty," she muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she picked up her glass again and headed for the door. It closed with a soft click.
At the sound, the Marty under the bed let out a deep sigh of relief. He waited a minute, to make sure his mother wasn't going to come back, then crawled out from under the bed and headed for the window. Marty slid it open, cast a quick glance at the bed to make sure his other self was still asleep, then jumped outside. He paused to shut the window at his back, then crept out of his yard and started running to the DeLorean.
The time machine, thankfully, was untouched and just as he had left it. Marty started it, lifted it into the air, and quickly adjusted the time circuits with one hand as he steered with the other.
"March 15, 2017, at 6:17AM," he said aloud. That was a couple minutes before he left the time, but around the point where he had moved the DeLorean from when Doc had parked it originally. A perfect time to put the time machine back.
The DeLorean reappeared in the future on the outskirts of town. Marty, having figured out that Doc parked the DeLorean in the same alleyway where they had landed in 2015 that first time, quickly drove the car over there and landed it without incident. He sighed in relief as he turned the engine and time circuits off. The alleyway was empty, no sign of Doc or any other person.
Marty had been waiting perhaps five minutes when a burning curiosity in his gut finally became too much. I've gotta see how famous I am now from what I did! he decided, opening the passenger-side door and stepping out of the time machine. He toyed for a moment about leaving a note for Doc in case the scientist came back, then decided it wasn't very likely--and, if Doc did see it, he would be in huge trouble! He'd be gone only a minute, just enough to look his name up in the phone book and at least have an idea on where he lived, and Doc wouldn't be back then. Marty was sure.
That decided, Marty shut the door and hurried out of the alleyway at a run.
Doc Brown thanked the merchant for the transaction, then left the electronic store of the future where he had gone to purchase a couple key parts for the holographic projector. Doc felt a little bad, borrowing from future technology and all, but he wasn't going to be making any profit off the holograms--they were strictly for personal use only, specifically for concealing the time machines. Doc was absolutely positive that once he popped this technology into what he had done so far, the invention would prove a success and he would be allowed to install the hardware into the DeLorean and train with awesome results.
Of course, he thought, if it shorts out the power again upon final testing, it's back to square one.
But Doc preferred not to go down that pessimistic train of thought.
He returned to where he had left the DeLorean, and was happy to find the time machine untouched. Doc had had a few qualms about leaving it out, albeit locked and in a somewhat hidden manner. His errand at the electronic store had taken longer than he had first anticipated--but it was still a good thing he hadn't sent the DeLorean ahead in time to meet him, or the car would have been waiting a while who knew where.
Doc Brown unlocked the DeLorean and got inside, tossed his bag on the passenger seat, closed the door, and started the car up, taking it into the air. Once he had reached a good altitude and the outskirts of town, Doc turned the time circuits on, punched in the proper code to access them, and reset his destination time for March 15, 1987 at 12:45AM with not a glance at the display, his eyes peering through the windshield.
It took him only several seconds to accelerate to 88 and return to his time.
Marty found a phone booth on the corner, right next to the alleyway where he was, but it took him longer to get there then he first thought. Though he had been in the courthouse square only about a year and a half before--both in his time and in this time--he could already see many changes that had swept through.
For one thing, even at this early hour of the day, things were bustling. It made Marty wonder how much things would shift in the next 30 years in relation to the hours of a work day. The cars that he saw looked even more streamlined and slicker than those he saw over a year before. There were a few new businesses around the courthouse square--a place called "Live It!" that advertised "the best in Virtual Reality Arcades" and "Fountain of Youth" that offered "Complete Overhauls in Only Two Hours!" to name two places--but both the Cafe 80's and the Blast from the Past store, where he'd bought that sports almanac that caused so much trouble the last time, were still there, as well as the clocktower with it's still-frozen timepiece.
The Holomax theater, across the street, was still there as well. The theater was now playing Another Visit to the Lost World: Jurassic Park 7--whatever that was. As he stared at the Holomax, a huge Tyrannosaurus Rex suddenly appeared over the marquee and lunged towards Marty with a mighty roar, right over the street. Marty gasped, startled, and stumbled back, tripping over the curb and falling smack down on his bottom. The dinosaur dissolved then, and a rotating logo for the movie replaced the image. Marty rolled his eyes, disgusted with himself for getting scared over something so typical here. He got to his feet and glanced around, relieved that no one appeared to have seen his reaction.
Enough of this, he thought, once again remembering why he was standing there. I've gotta hurry up and get over to that phone before Doc beats me to the DeLorean!
Marty was almost scared that he wouldn't recognized what a telephone looked like now, but when he turned around, he saw a row of booths with the word "phone" on them, located on the other side of the alleyway corner, across from the Cafe 80's and across the street from the Holomax, right next to the Texaco gas station.
Marty hurried across the street to one of the booths and got inside, relieved that there wasn't a line. That sense of relief flickered and died a moment later as Marty found himself staring at a contraption that resembled a small, flat television screen. The color monitor, built in slightly above eye-level for Marty, had the message, "Welcome to Hill Valley," rotating in a futuristic logo around the screen. Marty examined the messages under the monitor. "Please pay with your thumb," one said, an arrow to a smooth, silver plate. "Local Calls $35," read another.
Marty's eyes widened at the inflation--but he wasn't entirely surprised. With a slight hesitation, he reached up and thumbed the plate. The message on the monitor vanished, replaced by Marty's own face staring back at him. He blinked, startled, then jumped as a voice spoke nearly right in his ear. "Please input number," it said in a soft, feminine voice.
After a moment, staring at his face on the video monitor, Marty finally got it. "It's a video phone!" he exclaimed softly.
"Please input number," the voice said again.
Marty looked around the phone booth, searching for a keypad. He saw nothing that even remotely resembled one. "Damn," he muttered. "And I don't even know if zero is still the way to reach the operator."
"Dialing Operator," the voice suddenly said, a series of tones now sounding. Marty turned back to the screen, watching his face retreat to the upper lefthand corner of the screen. Now the majority of the monitor was taken up by an older woman in futuristic clothes.
"How may I help you?" she asked pleasantly.
Marty's mind went blank for a minute before he remembered why he was there. "Uh, I was wondering if you had a Martin McFly listed anywhe--"
"Yes," the woman said instantly, her eyes shifting away from the camera as if she was looking at a book or monitor or something. "I'm connecting you now. Thank you for using AT&T."
The image vanished, replaced by one of blackness as another series of tones played over the speakers. The sound of a ringing phone came right on the heels of that. Marty gasped in horror as he realized what was happening.
He was calling his own house--and on a videophone no less, where he could see them and they could see....him.
"NO!" Marty exclaimed. "Stop! I didn't mean I wanted to call!"
He reached out, running his hands around the monitor and booth in an attempt to disconnect the call. The ringing continued, unanswered so far at this early hour of the morning. Wondering if this thing was voice activated, Marty started rattling off everything he could think of that would terminate the call.
"I'm done, good-bye, turn off, stop, over and out, hang up!"
The last one seemed to do the trick. The ringing stopped abruptly, then Marty's image on the screen vanished, replaced by the "Welcome to Hill Valley" logo.
Marty let out a deep breath, leaning against the side of the phone booth. That had been too close. Despite his burning curiosity on his future, coming literally face-to-face with it would be a little too much, too soon. He was thinking more along the lines of doing a little research before even considering seeing the exterior of his house, let alone seeing himself!
Marty stepped out of the phone booth, noticing that he could see a little better than earlier--the sun was starting to rise. At the same moment, Marty remembered where he was supposed to be. Eyes wide, he ran into the alley, ready to get into the DeLorean and wait out the rest of Doc Brown's little trip.
But the DeLorean was not there.
The ringing of the telephone woke Doc Brown the next morning. He groaned at the interruption, having been up late the night before to do some more work in the lab with the supplies he had picked up from the future. On the third ring, just as Doc was about to reach over and pick up the blasted thing, the phone at his bedside grew silent.
Doc opened his eyes to find himself alone in the room. Clara, an early riser, had likely gotten up with the sun and, from the smell of things, was cooking another one of her excellent Sunday brunches. Even through the closed bedroom door, Doc could hear the faint sounds of cartoons that Verne was watching downstairs. He was about to roll over and get another couple hours sleep when someone knocked on the door.
"Yes?" he called back grumpily.
Verne opened the door and leaned inside. His hair was sleep-tousled and he still wore the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants he slept in. His left arm--which he had broken a month before on a pirate ship, according to all who had been with him--was in a cast that was covered in signatures from friends and family members. In his right hand, he held out the cordless phone from the downstairs.
"Marty's mom is on the phone," he said. "She wants to talk to you."
Doc sat up, puzzled. "Lorraine McFly?" he asked, wondering if he had heard right.
Verne nodded. "Uh huh."
Doc reached for the phone next to his bed. "Thanks," he told his son. Verne left the room, closing the door, as Doc picked up the handset. "Hello?"
"Dr. Brown?" Lorraine sounded both apologetic and worried. "I'm sorry to disturb you so early, but I was wondering if Marty was with you."
Doc frowned. "No, I haven't seen Marty since yesterday afternoon."
"Oh." Lorraine suddenly sounded very worried. Doc didn't like that one bit.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Well, I got up a short time ago and noticed that he wasn't in his room," Lorraine explained. "I know he's been apt to be out all night before without giving any of us warning, but usually in those circumstances he's been with you."
Doc nodded, though Marty's mother couldn't see the gesture. "I haven't seen him, Mrs. McFly," he said. "Have you tried calling Jennifer Parker?"
"No, not yet." Lorraine sighed. "Oh, I'm probably worrying for nothing. Marty's nearly nineteen now, and we haven't set a curfew for him in years....but if he starts to do this, perhaps we should rethink that."
Doc hid a smile. "Well, I'm sure you'll track him down."
"Thanks, Dr. Brown. And if you do see him, please have him call us as soon as possible."
"I'll do that."
Doc hung up, a little concerned despite his words to Lorraine. It wasn't like Marty to disappear without at least calling his parents. Usually the first thing he did after coming back at an unusually early (or late) hour from time traveling was call his parents to let them know that he'd gotten "caught up" in helping Doc with something at his place. That his family had not heard from him was an indicator that something was not right.
Doc got out of bed and walked over to the window, which looked out over the back of his property. He pushed aside one of the curtains, staring at the lab through narrowed eyes. The building, as far as he could see, was undisturbed. Doc was certain Marty couldn't get in there--and if he had managed such a feat, the motion detectors would have been triggered and an alarm would have sounded. But, on the other hand, the precautions could have failed. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time one of Doc's inventions failed him, and the equipment hadn't really been tested save for the initial tests that Doc had done himself before and after installation....
Ten minutes later, after changing clothes, Doc went downstairs and out to the lab. He unlocked the building, shut the alarm system down, and looked around. The DeLorean sat where Doc had left it the night before. Doc quickly checked to make sure the keys were where he'd hidden them--they were--then went to the cellar where the train was. The train, too, was sitting undisturbed, exactly where it had been since last fall when Doc had last taken it out for use.
To further be certain that Marty had not somehow used the time machines under Doc's nose, he went inside and checked the display for the last time departed--March 15, 2017 at 6:33AM for the DeLorean, and July 8, 1692 at 4:04AM with the train. Both checked out from what Doc remembered. So time travel was out.
Emmett, don't be paranoid, now, Doc told himself as he locked up his lab again. Marty didn't get in here--there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that. He probably just lost track of time somewhere and isn't near a phone.
Except, Doc remembered, Marty's truck was temporarily out of commission. And one couldn't get too far on foot or on skateboard.
The problem continued to nag at him as he returned to the house and took a seat at the kitchen table. Clara turned from the range top, preparing pancakes, bacon, sausage, and biscuits for the brunch. "Is something wrong, Emmett?" she asked, noticing the preoccupied expression he wore.
Doc frowned. "I'm not sure," he said. "That was Marty's mother on the phone--it seems he wasn't at home when she woke up this morning."
Clara stared at him in surprise. "Not home?" she echoed. "Is that normal behavior for him?"
"Not really," Doc admitted. "Usually, if he does something like that, he lets his family know."
"How odd," Clara commented, turning back to the stove to flip the pancakes. "You don't suppose something's happen to him, do you?"
"I hope not," Doc said firmly. "Aside from the obvious, Marty being....gone could be tremendously bad for all of us."
Clara turned away from the stove again at the tone in his voice. "Tremendously bad?" she echoed.
Doc outlined the facts for her. "Shortly after I first completed the time machine, I took Marty with me to 2015 to assist in a problem with his future. From there, we were forced to go to 1955 when Biff stole the almanac and the time machine and changed history. And from 1955, I was transported to 1885 when a bolt of lightning hit the original DeLorean. Eventually, I met you and we married and had the boys."
"Yes," Clara said, nodding. "You've told me this before."
"Here is the problem, though," Doc said gravely. "If Marty does not, God forbid, live to see 2015, then I will never need to take him to see his children, he will never buy the almanac, we will never go to 1955 and I won't be hit by that lightning and taken to 1885. Therefore, I will never meet you, the boys will never be born...." Doc spread his hands out with a shrug.
"But I thought you said his future had changed, so his son was never involved with Griff Tannen," Clara said.
"No," Doc corrected. "I never said that--I said Marty's future changed. But I have no idea what his children were like in the new one. For all we know, his son could have made the same mistake and simply not been caught." Doc shrugged. "We don't know for sure--time travel is very hard to understand and temporal cause and effect can sometimes contradict itself."
Clara stared at him, her face suddenly paling at a realization. "If you are never in the west, then who's to save me from the buckboard wagon?"
Doc stared at his wife. "I think you know the answer to that, Clara," he said softly.
Clara looked at her husband, her eyes wide. Something on the stove started to smoke, but Clara didn't notice, her eyes locked with Doc's. Neither of them moved, weighed down by the knowledge Doc had spilled. Verne came into the kitchen then, glanced at his parents slightly puzzled, then saw the swiftly thickening smoke and pointed.
"Mom! Dad! Something's on fire!"
The exclamation was enough to break Doc and Clara's paralysis. Clara turned around with a startled gasp, as Doc made a dive for the fire extinguisher by the door. "Get back!" he yelled at Clara, pushing her aside as he emptied foam all over the stovetop and the burning food. The fire was snuffed out right away, leaving a smoke-filled kitchen.
"Oh, Emmett," Clara moaned. She buried her face in her hands. Doc paused to pat her once on the shoulder, then moved around opening windows to air out the room. Jules joined his brother in the doorway of the kitchen, his eyes wide as he took in the scene.
"What happened?"
"Just a culinary accident," Doc explained, grabbing a dishtowel to wave before the window as an impromptu fan. "No big deal."
>The telephone rang again. Verne, standing right next to it, picked it up. "Hello?" he said. "Oh hi, Jennifer. Justa minute." He held the phone out to his father. "It's Jennifer, Dad. Wants to talk to you."
Doc accepted the cordless phone and stepped into the other room to speak. "Hello, Jennifer," he said in a low voice.
"Doc? Do you know where Marty is?" Jennifer asked, sounding concerned. "His mother just called here and she said she called you first, but...." She left the statement hanging. Doc caught what she was talking about right away.
"No, Jennifer, I don't know where he is," Doc replied. "And no, he didn't take one of the time machines. Both are untouched--I checked on them not long ago."
Jennifer sighed shakily. "This isn't good," she said softly. "Marty doesn't do this stuff. Something's wrong, Doc, I know it is."
"Perhaps we are all jumping to conclusions," Doc said, more calmly than he felt. "It's still early--for all we know, Marty got up and decided to go for a walk."
"Maybe," Jennifer said, unconvinced. "But that isn't like him, Doc."
"I know," Doc sighed. "Let me know if you hear anything, and I'll do the same."
"All right."
When Doc turned around after hanging up, he found both Jules and Verne standing in the doorway of the kitchen and staring at him. "Marty's missing?" Verne asked immediately, his eyes wide.
"Was he abducted?" Jules asked.
"In a manner of speaking, and no," Doc said succinctly. "Marty was not at his house this morning when his family woke up, and they're a bit worried. But that's it for now, and I'm sure he will turn up later today."
Doc slipped past the boys and back into the kitchen, where Clara was starting to clean up the mess on the stove. Her face was pinched in worry. "Oh, Emmett, you don't really think something happened to Marty, do you?"
Doc joined her at the stove and rubbed her back. "I wouldn't worry, Clara," he said softly, close to her ear in an effort to keep the conversation from the boys. "If worse comes to worst, there is a way we can fix this situation."
Clara sniffed, turning her head to look at him. "When should I start to worry, then?"
"You'll know," Doc said. "Trust me, you'll know."
Marty McFly was still not home by nightfall on Sunday, and by Monday night his disappearance was on the local news, in part due to George McFly's success and popularity in the town. The police were out in full force, combing Hill Valley and interviewing those who had had contact with him the last day.
Doc Brown was interviewed by a couple men for an hour, which was quite a difficult ordeal for him. He couldn't tell them what he and Marty had talked about Saturday afternoon. He had considered the problem before, however, and fixed up a convenient lie about Marty just venting about his day and then having to return home shortly after because his parents had expected it of him. It was the truth, just not the entire truth, and Doc was afraid the cops would sense that and come down hard on him. But they left without seeing any holes in his story.
Clara kept both Jules and Verne out of school Monday, and into Tuesday. With the terrifying possibility of a kidnapper lurking about, she was taking no chances. Doc didn't argue with her about it, realizing how frightening this world sometimes was to his wife when compared with the slower and safer pace of her origins. If it gave her greater comfort to have her children with her, so be it. Spring vacation was the week after, anyhow, and nothing very important would be missed in school.
Doc took comfort in his family being close by him, but not for quite the same reasons Clara did; seeing them wholly there and not vanishing kept his hopes up that Marty would turn up okay.
By the time Tuesday dawned and absolutely no sign of the teenager had turned up, Doc decided it was time for him to take measures of his own. He found a couple articles of clothing Marty had worn before in past time travels, had Einstein get his scent, then sent the sheep dog around his property.
Einstein picked up something immediately--the dog ran to the far end of the yard, at the treeline, and started barking. Doc--along with Jules and Verne, who were helping him out--ran to where the dog waited.
"What is it, Einie?" Doc asked, trying to keep calm. "Did you find something?"
The dog barked, trotting across the yard to the lab, then paused at the window located on the other side of the building from the house. Doc, Jules, and Verne followed at a run.
"Think he has something, Dad?" Verne asked, staring up at his father hopefully.
"I don't know, Verne," Doc said honestly. "Don't get your hopes up too high, though."
Verne nodded seriously. Jules spoke up as they watched Einstein sniff the ground under the window. "Father, are you going to take one of the time machines back and follow Martin to see what happens to him?"
It was an idea Doc had had from the start. But, so far, he had not followed it through. Doc didn't want to do something that drastic until he had some concrete evidence--like, Doc thought with a shudder, a body--that something had happened to Marty that had to be changed. If he had interfered with Marty before he turned up missing and before Doc knew the whole story, it could create worse damage than waiting a little longer.
"Dad, I think Einstein has something!" Verne cried before Doc could answer Jules' question. Doc looked at his dog, now rounding the corner of the building to the front. He hurried to follow and found Einstein pawing at the lab door, whining.
"Is Martin in there?" Jules asked, studying the door with a frown. "I thought only you and Mother could access the lab now."
"We can," Doc said, already putting his hand to the silver plate and opening the door. He paused in the doorway to turn off the alarm system, then entered the old converted barn. "Marty was in here on Saturday afternoon, however, while I was working." Doc looked at Einstein through eyes narrowed in mock-discipline. "You aren't retracing Marty's steps from Saturday, now, are you boy?"
Einstein barked once, then trotted over to the DeLorean. He pawed at the door, looking at Doc.
"Did Martin touch the DeLorean on Saturday, too?" Jules asked slowly, looking at his father. Doc was staring at the time machine, frowning in pure confusion now.
"No, I don't think he did."
"Then why is Einie over there?" Verne wanted to know.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Doc answered. He went over to where he stored the DeLorean keys, taped under one of the worktables. He'd have to move them after this, since Jules and Verne were standing right there and watching as he pulled them out, but no matter. Doc went over to the door Einstein was pawing at--the driver's side door--then unlocked it and pushed the door up.
Einstein hopped in the driver's seat, then slipped into the small space behind the front seats. Jules and Verne joined their father in the doorway of the car and watched as the dog rooted around under a wool blanket, a moment later reappearing with something clenched in his teeth. Doc took the object from Einie and realized it was a wallet. He didn't need to open to know that it was Marty's wallet.
The picture started coming together for Doc, but it was still too fuzzy for him to see clearly. "Great Scott!" he whispered, turning the wallet over and over in his hands.
"What's that?" Verne wanted to know, craning his neck for a look. Doc turned away from the DeLorean, hurrying over to where the VCR was stored that recorded all the action in the lab whenever the motion sensor picked up something. Doc had spent little time in the lab since Marty's disappearance; therefore he was sure the tape would still have footage from Saturday on it.
"What are you doing, Father?" Jules asked as Doc unlocked the cabinet under the worktable, where he stored the VCR. Doc stopped the tape and started to rewind it. He had rigged it to record continuously, and each tape could store up to 8 hours of footage on it.
"I'm going to review the security tape from this weekend," Doc replied. "Einstein found Marty's wallet in the car. I know for a fact that it wasn't there before Saturday--Marty mentioned that he had left his wallet in his room that morning on his way to his audition."
"So what's that mean, exactly?" Verne asked, frowning. "Was he in the DeLorean?"
"Not to my knowledge," Doc said. "But the wallet's in there. If he somehow managed to bypass every single security device I've installed in the lab and the time machines, I'll be shocked. I just can't see how Marty could do such a thing without me knowing."
"Stranger things've happened," Verne muttered. Doc turned on the small television he had in his lab and switched the station to channel 3, where the VCR would play through. A couple minutes later the tape stopped rewinding, and Doc started to play it. He was greeted with a view of himself and Marty in the lab from on Saturday. The date and time, stamped at the base of the screen, told Doc it was March 14th at 2:46PM.
Doc fast forwarded through the footage, having lived through it once already. He stopped when it shifted over to March 15th, at 12:22AM. Doc watched himself as he entered the lab, deactivated the alarm system, then went into the cellar to change clothes into something more appropriate for his trip to 2017. Almost as soon as the cellar trapdoor had shut behind him, someone else came in the lab.
"Marty!" Doc, Jules, and Verne all exclaimed at the same time, leaning forward for a closer look at the grainy footage.
It was indeed Marty. He was dressed all in dark clothes and appeared nervous as he looked around the lab, then headed for the DeLorean. To Doc's surprise, the door opened without protest.
"I forgot to lock the DeLorean!" Doc exclaimed, covering his eyes with his hand. "How could I have overlooked something so simple?"
"Watch, Father," Jules reminded him, pointing to the screen. Doc looked back in time to see Marty pull the DeLorean's door shut behind him. A minute later, Doc saw himself return on screen, get in the car, and take it out of the lab to the future.
"I don't believe this!" Doc groaned, finally seeing the big picture. Now that he did, he was suddenly really, really angry. "How the hell did he get in here without my knowing? How the hell did he manage to hide himself in the DeLorean without me finding out?!"
"The wallet was in the space behind the seats, so he was probably there," Jules pointed out. "It's tight, granted, but both Verne and I have managed to squeeze in back there for brief trips."
"Where did you go, anyway?" Verne asked as Doc turned off the TV and stopped the tape.
"To the year 2017," Doc sighed. "I had an errand I needed to run."
"So Martin was in the DeLorean when you departed," Jules concluded. "Where is he now?"
Doc closed his eyes at the realization, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. "Marty must have left the time vehicle while I was there," he said softly, opening his eyes. "I left him in 2017."
Marty stared at the spot where the DeLorean had been, in shock. Am I in the right place? he wondered, glancing around. Yes, he definitely was. So where was the time machine?
A most disturbing scenario occurred to Marty, then--Doc Brown had returned before he had and taken off back to the past, unaware that Marty had stepped out for a few minutes. Marty swallowed hard, forcing his mind to come up with a less frightening possibility. But it refused, frozen in shock. Marty could practically feel the color drain from his face as he realized the consequences from his little stowaway experiment.
The Doc doesn't know I was here with him--no one does. And if he doesn't know I'm here, how can he come back to get me? They don't make letters that travel to the past!
Marty had to put a hand on the brick wall beside him to steady himself with the realization he was stuck here. "Oh God," he whispered.
Marty stood there for perhaps a minute before realizing that hovering around an alleyway, dressed the way he was, was probably not a good idea. He was already attracting a few suspicious looks. He had to go somewhere else, somewhere less conspicuous.
Marty chose the one place that brought him at least a little comfort--the Cafe 80's.
At this hour of the day, the cafe was doing pretty good business. Most people there were seated at the counter. Rock music poured out of the speakers, stuff that Marty recognized--Van Halen's "Jump." He walked over to one of the booths in the far corner of the cafe, taking a seat. The numbness was starting to wear off now and he felt scared--even more terrified than he had been seeing Doc leave him in 1955 in a blaze of lightning. At least Doc had know where he was that time!
"I am so dead," Marty murmured, burying his face in his hands. He was interrupted by a voice close to his elbow.
"Welcome to the Cafe 80's, where everyone wants to have fun!" a perky voice exclaimed. Marty looked over to see a small TV monitor hanging from the ceiling in the aisle, where a computerized face of Cyndi Lauper smiled up at him. "Our specials today are--"
"Just give me a Pepsi," Marty said flatly.
"Okay--that'll be $50," the voice answered cheerfully. Marty reached for his wallet automatically, frowning when he didn't find it.
"Oh great," he muttered. "I lost my wallet in the future. This is just turning out to be the greatest day of my life!"
"Please pay with your thumb," the computer Cyndi Lauper said, pointing to the silver plate on the bottom of the TV monitor. Marty sighed and complied, wondering if his future self was going to be mighty suspicious about all these charges he was making. A second after his thumb was scanned, a bottle of Pepsi Perfect popped up on his table from below. Marty picked it up and studied the top, wondering again how one opened these things--he never did find out last time.
As he fiddled with the soft drink, Marty forced his mind to concentrate on some immediate problems. He needed clothes, definitely. Looking like a prowler--not to mention, a prowler 30 years out of date--was not going to get him far here without attracting unwanted attention. But aside from that chore, Marty didn't know what else he could do.
I suppose I now have enough time to look myself up, he thought with a wry smile. But will I even be around now if I never get home? The thought gave Marty a weird headache. He knew, in theory, that should've been true the moment he left October 26, 1985 to help his future son out in 2015--but he was still around, as was his family. What did that mean? Marty had no idea.
I could always look up Doc now, too, Marty realized, looking out the window at the courthouse square he hardly recognized. Maybe the Doc wouldn't necessarily be alive now--the thought gave Marty another sick-to-his-stomach sensation--but surely Jules and Verne and possibly Clara would be. Marty didn't really know if he wanted to follow that course of action, however--if he found out Doc had died some years back, the news would just depress him.
Marty heard someone pass by his table. He turned his head and saw a couple girls his age. They looked at him, giggled, then looked away. Marty frowned, glancing down at his clothes, wondering if that was what they found so amusing. Suddenly more uneasy, Marty got to his feet and decided that it would be a perfect time now, before daylight came all the way, to get into something more with the times. He took the apparently-glued-shut bottle of future Pepsi with him, pausing in the doorway of the business to ask a question he suddenly needed answered.
"Excuse me," he said, stopping a guy about his age. "Do you know where I could get some clothes?"
The guy stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Nice one, McFly," he said, giving Marty a good swat on the back. "You're such a crack up! Nice to see you don't take yourself as serious as your dad!"
Marty managed a wan smile as the person went on their way, feeling even more confused now from the comment about his father--no, his son's father, which would be him! Great, he thought. He stepped out on the street and looked around, finally spotting a potential place that he could get clothes at on the other side of the street from him. Marty shook his head at his own stupidity. It was so obvious! Why hadn't he seen it before?
He started across the street, to the Hill Valley Courthouse Mall.
Marty entered thought the mall's lower level, the entrance positioned beside the pond now in the center of town. As he descended the steps and entered through the automatic sliding glass doors, Marty did his best to act casual, as if he belonged here and nothing he saw shocked him. He didn't get far with that act--the first store he saw, which happened to be a clothing store, had rotating outfits just hovering in space in the glass display cases. Marty stopped dead before it, staring at the cases in amazement. "SPRING MADNESS SALE!" a sign in the window screamed.
"Well," he said aloud, starting to the door, "I guess you can't lose if it's on sale!"
Inside, Marty found that sizes no longer mattered--everything was tailored to self-adjust, just like the jacket that Doc had put him in during their 2015 trip. Marty picked out some jeans (which, blessedly, didn't look like they changed too much from the jeans he wore in the 80's), a "mood" t-shirt that changed color based on one's mood, and an oversized black leather jacket. A pair of future Nikes completed his outfit.
Might as well go all out, Marty figured as he plucked his purchases on the counter for a young woman to ring up. She looked decidedly odd to Marty, with half her head shaved and jewels of different colors glued to her teeth--he figured it was some weird future fad--and a t-shirt that displayed what looked to Marty as a TV show. The woman demanded payment in the form of his thumb, again, which Marty went ahead with and later gasped at the price of the clothes he'd just bought.
Good thing it's on sale, he thought. Hate to see what it'd be like if not!
Once he left the store, Marty found a restroom and quickly changed clothes. He'd hardly had the stuff on his body when the jacket and jeans stared emitting beeps. Marty found the buttons that adjusted the clothes, hit them, and they promptly shrunk to his size, although the jacket still seemed a little too big for him.
Must be future fashion, he figured, pulling on the shoes, which laced themselves around his ankles. Smiling at the ease of dressing, Marty stashed his 1987 clothes in the bag the new ones had come in, then threw it in the garbage can. He didn't really see the point in dragging it with him.
That done, Marty stood in front of the bathroom's mirror and stared at himself. He didn't know if he looked like someone from the future. His clothes seemed sort of....plain when he thought of the other stuff he'd seen. It was probably a good thing, not standing out so much, but maybe he'd stand out more from not being so flashy.
Marty sighed. He wished Doc was here now, more than he ever wanted anything in his whole life! But wishing wasn't going to do anything. Desperate to keep his mind off the situation he was in, Marty left the bathroom and wandered back to the main corridor of the mall. He sat down on one of the benches with a sigh, trying to figure out what his next move would be.
I suppose I have the time now to look myself up, Marty realized. Instead of feeling elated about the idea, however, he felt almost...reluctant. Why was that? Everyone wanted to know about their future--hell, the entire reason Marty was here in the first place was because of that! So why did he suddenly feel so strange about the entire matter....
"Paranoid, McFly," Marty muttered to himself as he got to his feet and started for the exit. What could be worse than discovering his future kids were jailed and pawns of a Tannen? Nothing, right?
Jaw set in determination, Marty headed outside and started a search for his future.
"Oh my goodness, Emmett! Are you sure?"
"I'm almost one hundred percent positive," Doc assured Clara grimly. "It's the only thing that makes sense with the evidence presented." He started to pace the lab, his family watching him as he did so. "Marty must've been watching me as I entered the lab. I'm fairly certain he wanted to use one of the time machines and probably figured that I was in the lab just to fetch something that late at night. Why he had to hide in the time machine...." Doc sighed and shook his head.
"I would've gone there first," Verne spoke up. "It's better than the tables, where you'd have more of a chance of seeing us."
Clara favored her youngest son with a stern look to be quiet. "So Marty has been in the future all this time?" she asked.
Doc nodded. "To you, me, and everyone else in Hill Valley, he's been out for the last two days. But if I went back at the point I departed from the future and waited for Marty to show up, then it would seem to him as if no time has passed. Of course," he added, "we'd have to figure out one hell of a story for him to give his parents and the police...."
"Why don't you just bring him back to Sunday, or perhaps prevent him from even getting in the DeLorean?" Jules asked.
"Because both actions would create paradoxes," Doc answered immediately. "If I took him back to Sunday, then I would never realize he was missing in the first place and never think to pick him up in 2017, so how would he get back then? And," he rushed ahead as he saw the word "but" form on Jules' lips, "if I headed him off at the pass and prevented the incident from occurring, it would result in me never discovering it occurred and I wouldn't be able to stop him in the first place!"
Clara nodded, though she still appeared a tad confused from Doc's speech; Verne frowned, wearing an expression of deep thought on his face as he tried to sort it through in his mind; Jules nodded, a bit hesitantly. "I see now," the older boy said. "So is your only option to go to 2017 and pick Martin up?"
"Yes," Doc said, thinking. "I'll just have to change clothes, make sure Mr. Fusion is ready to go, and then--"
"What about this, Emmett?" Clara asked, sweeping an arm towards the open door to the sunny outdoors. "People will see the time machine if you use it now."
Doc frowned, working on that problem. "Not really," he said after a moment. "All I'd have to do was drive the vehicle normally on the road and wait until I'm out of town before taking it up in the air. Then Marty and I could return this evening." He sighed. "I wish I had the holographic programming installed in the DeLorean now! But it's not ready for that yet."
"Then don't trouble yourself over it," Clara said quickly. "It can't be helped." She paused. "What are we going to tell the authorities about Marty's absence?"
"I don't know," Doc sighed again. "I'll have to talk to Marty about that--we're going to have a long talk," he added, anger creeping back into his voice. "I cannot believe he did such a thing!"
"Don't be too harsh on him, Emmett," Clara said. "He'll have enough to deal with when he returns."
"Yeah," Verne chimed in. "Maybe they'll throw him in jail!"
Jules looked at his brother with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "They don't throw people in jail if they're missing, dummy," he said witheringly. "They--" Jules stopped, suddenly looking confused. He looked up at his father. "What do they do?"
"They'll give him the third degree--literally," Doc said. "That's why we need to figure out an airtight story. If the cops realize something isn't right, it could get all of us in hot water."
Doc stopped pacing, pausing to think through the more immediate concerns. "All right," he said. "I'm going to get into some clothes more fitting for the destination period, then take the DeLorean outside of town. I should return sometime this evening--I'll give you a more precise time before I leave. In the time that I'm gone, you need to tell anyone who calls for me that I've gone out of town for the day on business. Got it?"
Three heads nodded in unison. Doc went over to the trapdoor, rolled the rug back, and lifted the trap door. He was about to descend in the basement, where he stored various period clothes as well as the locomotive time machine, when he was stopped by Verne's voice. "What if you can't find Marty in the future?" he asked, his eyes wide and a bit fearful.
"I'm almost certain he's there," Doc repeated. "But if he's not, well...." He paused and swallowed hard, not wanting to think such things. "We'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it."
On that sober note, Doc stepped into the cellar, switching on the electric lights so he wouldn't kill himself as he descended the steep wooden stairs. Under the stairs was a closet, and in that closet Doc had crammed--and crammed was exactly the word--many outfits that he had accumulated in his travels for all members of his family. Some of the stuff hadn't even been worn before--flea markets, garage sales, and the Goodwill could be quite handy in picking up some cheap clothes, though most of those were for the latter half of the 20th century.
Doc quickly selected a dark purple silk shirt, a long metallic silver coat, and black pants that he'd bought while in 2015 during his first journeys in time. It took him only a few minutes to exchange clothes and return to the main part of the lab upstairs. Clara waited still, though the boys were nowhere to be seen.
"I sent Jules and Verne inside, to monitor the phone should we get any calls," she said before Doc could even ask. "And to keep them away while you leave--you know how much they want to come along."
Doc smiled at his wife, once again marvelling how lucky he was to have her. It was a bit strange sometimes, the way she could almost read his mind. Though Jules and Verne hadn't come out and asked to tag along, Doc could read it in their eyes as plain as day. "Thanks," he said, kissing her quickly before getting back down to business. "I'm going to take Einstein with me, on the off chance I'll have any trouble locating Marty."
Clara nodded, an amused smile playing around her lips as she looked her husband over. "A most interesting outfit, Emmett," she said. "Do people really dress that way in the future?"
Doc nodded, a little ruefully. "Yes. But it could be worse."
"Actually," Clara said, reaching out to pick up a corner of Doc's silver coat, "I was thinking that people in the future don't dress too differently from you now. Same bold colors and unique combinations."
"Should I take that as a compliment or insult?" Doc asked, raising his eyebrows as he looked at Clara. She smiled, letting the coat drop from her hand. "Well, you always were ahead of your time," she said. "If clothes like these are considered fashionable in the future...well, I think that's a complement, then."
Doc nodded. Favoring his wife with another quick kiss, he rounded up Einstein into the DeLorean and took a seat in the time machine. "Let's see," he said aloud as he fired up the time circuits. "It says that I left 2017 at 6:33AM."
Clara came over to the time machine and leaned inside to see. "Will you be returning at the same moment you left?" she asked.
Doc thought about that for a moment, then a grim smile slid over his lips. "I think ten minutes later should be good," he said, adjusting the destination time accordingly. "Might as well give Marty a scare so he won't do this again. That'll probably be worth more than lectures to him."
Clara nodded in agreement. "I should say. Be careful there."
"I will," Doc promised her. "We'll return at 9PM tonight and be back at the lab a few minutes later, I imagine. Then we'll have to summon the authorities and turn Marty over to them."
Clara nodded again. "Would you like one of us to contact Jennifer and let her know about this?"
Doc considered it. "I suppose," he said. "But don't forget to let her know how important it is for her to keep quiet regarding this matter."
"She won't tell anyone," Clara said knowingly. "Good luck, Emmett."
"Thanks. I'll see you in the not-so-distant future." With a reassuring smile to his wife, Doc closed the gull-wing door and started the car up. After opening the large doors, Doc pulled out of the building and drove down the packed dirt driveway to the road, where he then headed for the outskirts of town.
Driving the DeLorean around like a normal car in the present day was not one of Doc's favorite activities--the time vehicle attracted far too many stares than he was comfortable with. On the other hand, one of the more positive aspects of being thought of as borderline crazy--or at the very least, eccentric--was that people thought little about what the stuff on the DeLorean was there for. They just figured it was another one of Doc's weird creations. Actually time traveling in daylight hours, however, was something Doc would only do in a most extreme situation. The risk of being seen was far too great.
This was one of those extreme situations, though. The last thing Doc wanted to do was wait until evening to travel, now that he knew what he did.
It took him twenty minutes to reach the city limits of Hill Valley, and Doc waited until he had driven five miles out of them before he took the DeLorean up in the air, and swiftly accelerated to 88. When he entered the future in the same location, it was suspended over neighborhoods--Hill Valley grew a lot in 30 years. Doc felt no qualms as he headed back to town by flying the car through the air. This form of transportation was most acceptable now.
After circling the downtown area once, to orient himself, Doc brought the DeLorean down in the same alleyway where he landed earlier that morning--and two days before. He shut the vehicle down and waited for Marty to return to the car. And waited. And waited. And waited. When the clock on the present time display clicked over to 7AM and there was still no sign of the teenager, Doc started to get a little worried.
What if I was wrong? he wondered. What if Marty isn't here in this time?
But as soon as that possibly occurred to him, Doc dismissed it with a shake of his head. "Ridiculous," he muttered, looking at Einstein in the passenger seat. The dog barked, as if to confirm Doc's comment. Where else would Marty be?
But he hadn't looked at the security tape that showed his return. For all he knew, Marty had stayed in the car and snuck out to go home, where something happened to him. Yet Doc knew that was reaching--he had been in the lab until late that night, in plain view of the DeLorean. And if Marty had tried to leave after Doc had left, the alarm would have been set off.
Doc shut the time circuits off after another ten minutes of waiting and stepped out of the car. He stood beside the car for a moment, staring out at the courthouse square. Einstein got out and stood next to him, whining as he looked up at his master. Doc looked at his dog, then shrugged. "Well, Einie," he said. "I don't suppose you can find Marty here, can you?"
Einstein barked, his tail wagging in agreement to the project. Doc smiled at his faithful pet, locking the DeLorean up and walking out of the alley and into the courthouse square. He looked around, a little cautiously now. Now that his family was residing in 1987, it was quite possible that they were still around now--at least the boys and Clara.
Doc had resisted the urge to look up his own future, firmly believing that knowing too much about his own destiny was dangerous. It had been maddening enough finding out that he'd created a time machine in October of 1985 back in November of 1955. For the next 30 years, Doc had worried that he was moving too slowly or too quickly for the historic date to be met. Playing guessing games with time was a stress he frankly didn't want or need.
But others didn't share that same view. Einstein led Doc to a phone booth, right next to the alleyway. It was empty now, but it didn't take Doc much imagination to realize that Marty had stopped there earlier--to look up himself, no doubt. He shook his head in exasperation, looking down at Einstein as he stepped inside the small cubical.
"When will he learn?" he sighed, pressing his thumb to the silver plate. As the message disappeared and his face came on the screen, Doc waisted no time in saying, "Phone book, please. Name, Martin McFly, Senior."
Doc's face on the screen vanished, replaced by a listing on the screen. "McFly, Martin Sr. 826 Roslyndale Drive. 6565-1258."
At some point in the next thirty years, telephone numbers would become eight digits, not seven--probably due to a burst in population and a demand for phone numbers that the companies could not keep up with, Doc imagined. He quickly committed the address and phone number to memory before leaving the phone booth.
As Doc walked towards the street, with the intent of hiring a taxi to take him to this address, something nagged at him, something he couldn't quite catch. He was almost positive that the address he saw was not the one Marty lived in during Doc's investigation a couple years before. Then again, over a year had passed--it was quite possible his family had moved in that time. As for the street name, Roslyndale, Doc had no idea where that was. He certainly didn't recognize it--probably in a new neighborhood or something.
Einstein whined as Doc paused on the curb, surveying the street for a yellow cab. Doc hardly noticed his pet, too intent with the project at hand. "Taxi!" he exclaimed, spotting one as it drove by. The cab stopped, allowing Doc to get inside the back with the dog.
"Destination?" the cabby asked.
"826 Roslyndale Drive," Doc said as he shut the door. He paused as the taxi started forward. "Do you know where that is?"
"Out on the west side of town, literally," the cabbie replied, chuckling.
Doc frowned, not getting the joke. "Pardon?" he asked.
The taxi driver was quick to clarify. "That street's out near Eastwood Ravine. A buncha morons if you ask me. That ravine's been crumbin' since the quake of '09--only those who can't afford to move are still hangin' out there. It's becomin' a friggin' ghost town of the 21st century!"
That didn't sound terribly promising to Doc. "Are you sure?" he asked doubtfully.
The cabbie nodded. "Oh yeah--wait'll you see this place. Can't believe that some crazies are stickin' around there still!"
Doc suddenly had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Marty, what happened to you? he wondered.
Marty's journey of self discovery took him to the library first. Luckily, it was still in the same place he remembered it being--a few blocks away from the courthouse square--and he was able to walk to it. Unfortunately, the place bore little resemblance to any library Marty had been in before, once he entered the building.
The libraries Marty was used to seeing had lots of dusty shelves with books, newspapers, or magazines stuffed in them. The shelves were still there, but they weren't dusty anymore. And instead of books, magazines, or newspapers, all they contained were what looked to Marty as slender, smaller binders no bigger than a CD case.
Marty stepped over to the closest shelf near the door to examine the cases. He pulled one from the rack and saw the cover of a Stephen King novel, "The Stand." As Marty opened the case, however, he was greeted not with pages or paper but with a flat white screen that started to play moving pictures as a voice started narrating.
Marty slammed thing shut, a little startled, then turned it over to the back. He examined the fine print at the bottom, noticing this was a "videobook." Interesting.
"Whatever happened to good old novels?" he muttered, reshelfing the thing.
"Oh, you know as well as I do they were banned during the tree shortage in 2010," a voice said close behind. Marty whirled around to find a young woman about his age standing near him. She smiled at the confusion on his face, brushing back a strand of brown hair.
"Hello, Marty," she said. "Remember me? From homeroom our senior year?"
Obviously, Marty had no memory of this. "Uh...." he stalled. "Not really."
The smile did not waver. "Zoey Stuart--remember? We used to study together in high school?"
"Oh, yeah..." Marty said, nodding and playing along. "That was always fun."
Zoey raised an eyebrow. "Really? All I remember is you ranting how much you hated math!"
"Oh, well...." Marty didn't know what to say in response to that. The problem was swiftly taken out of his hands by Zoey.
"I didn't know you were back in town," she went on. "Are you visiting your dad and his new wife?"
Marty's hand shot out to the bookshelf in an effort to steady himself from the news that had just been blurted by the teenager before him. "What?" he gasped. "My dad has a new wife?"
Zoey looked at him as if he was some kind of idiot. Marty didn't care what she thought of him. "Um, yeah. You were in the wedding last year, remember?"
Marty decided then and there he had to do some serious future research. "Listen, uh...Zoey," he said. "Where can I find back issues of the Hill Valley Telegraph and a current phone book?"
The change of subject brought a faint frown to the young woman's lips. "Well, the Telegraphs are in Archives, in the basement," she said. "They finally transferred those old microfilm things onto CD ROM a few years ago--about time, if you ask me. And the phone book would be in Reference."
"Thanks," Marty told her. "Gotta run now." He hurried away, ignoring Zoey's questions on if he was okay.
Marty had been down in the basement before--actually a lower level of the library that could be viewed from the upper areas. The last time he'd been in there, though, was probably back when he and Doc had been researching his 1885 past from 1955. Marty had been planning to go to the library and look up Doc in the archives once he had returned from 1885, but before he'd had the chance Doc had shown up at his window in the dead of night a week later.
Once again, Marty's memory of the archives differed drastically from the reality. Granted, the last time he'd been down there was over 30 years removed from his own time--but he didn't think it differed too much between '55 and '87. Drawers of photographs, bound newspapers, carefully compiled information about Hill Valley's history and all it's residents--this was what Marty had seen last. What he saw now were shelves, like the ones upstairs, filled with smaller compact disc cases that were arranged in a carefully labeled chronological order.
Now that he was here, Marty didn't quite know what to do. So he went back up to the main floor, found a librarian, and she set him up at a computer terminal in the basement that would split out different dates and issues of the newspaper based on keywords and include little summaries of the articles as well. Feeling a little foolish, Marty punched in his own name, then waited as the computer took several seconds to spit out a list that totaled over 70 articles.
The computer--one that the librarian had snorted was "ancient," but looked a little nicer and different then the ones Marty was used to seeing--was quick in pulling up the articles as Marty clicked on them. They dated all the way back to 1987! Marty started reading the blurbs at the beginning. He quickly became annoyed at the briefness of each summary...but not annoyed enough to search for the entire articles in the issues of the paper.
HVT, Wednesday, April 15, 1987, Page 5C
Local Band Signs Record Contract
Hill Valley band, The Pinheads, signed a record contract with MCA Records on April 13, after an impressive audition in mid-March. An album is expected to be released by Christmastime. The band is made up of--
That was all, but it was enough to make Marty gasp. I did it, he thought. I was right! If I hadn't botched that audition, this would've happened! This did happen now!
He couldn't help grinning. "Yes!" he hissed, already clicking on the next story. It was dated eight months later.
HVT, Tuesday, December 8, 1987, Page 1C
Pinheads' Album Debuts
Marty jumped ahead, skimming the headlines and first few sentences, gleaning that the band had had an insanely successful first album. Number one on the Billboard Top 100 list for 25 weeks. In the top ten for another 29 weeks. Marty's grin grew larger and large, even as he read in the blurbs mentions on how he and the rest of the guys had "put off" college for a while after their breakthrough album. And in the year of 1991, Marty read another exciting blurb that related to him, personally.
HVT, Monday, May 20, 1991, Page 1C
Local Rock Musician Weds
"So far, so good," Marty murmured, leaping ahead once again. The band released their second album the summer after his marriage, but it didn't do as well as the first--it peeked at #30 on the Billboard Top 100. Not very surprising, Marty hated to admit--second albums didn't do so hot when they followed a real good first one. Especially if they waited so long between release dates!
The Pinheads toured for a year in 1993, had a well-received concert in Hill Valley the last day, then went back to the studio to make their third album. The third album did even worse than the second, and even though the Pinheads did another tour in '95, it didn't help the sagging numbers. There was a long gap in news after 1995. Marty's next find once again concerned him personally.
HVT, Wednesday, June 24, 1998, Page 4C
It's a Boy...And a Girl!
"Twins," Marty mumbled, numbed by the news. He'd always assumed his kids were born the normal way--one at a time. Doc Brown never mentioned anything about twins--not that he would even if Marty had asked him point blank. Trying to forget what he now knew about his future kids, Marty leaped ahead once more. A fourth album was released in 1999--it flopped. Marty felt increasingly depressed as he read on, but he kept reading on because he had to know--this was his future and he had a right to it, after all!
The Pinheads finally called it quits in 2001 after their contract with MCA ran out, only to reunite in a special Hill Valley concert in 2003, with a promise that they were "back and better than ever"--a quote attributed to Marty himself and used in the article's headline. After signing with another label--one Marty had never heard of--an album followed in the next year, with anemic results. Undeterred, the band released a greatest hits album in 2006, which cracked the Billboard Top 100 at number 88, peaked at number 32, then gradually sank from view.
What news followed made Marty cringe--The Pinheads began to play at state fairs and other bottom-feeding, has-been venues. Marty read a couple snippet articles about how he had purchased a big plot of land in the exclusive neighborhood on the edge of Eastwood Ravine and built a huge house in 2008. Then, in 2010, the neighborhood was nearly condemned after a heavy earthquake the year before that started the ravine edges crumbling.
Marty's family did not move. An article from that year described why.
HVT, Friday, March 26, 2010, Page 3C
On the Edge of Bankruptcy
Marty was utterly shocked. "What!" he exclaimed, earning himself some stern looks from other patrons in the upper levels of the library. Marty didn't notice. How could he have done something so stupid!
But it continued to get worse.
HVT, Thursday, June 12, 2014, Page 2C
Rock N' Roll Marriage Splits
"Oh God, no," Marty whispered, his throat dry as he stared at the luminescent screen with wide eyes. "No, I don't believe it. It can't be!"
As if agreeing with him, the screen suddenly flickered. Marty slammed a hand down on the hard drive next to the monitor, not very hard. The screen distorted even worse, then blacked out. Marty looked around for a restart or power switch, found none, then got up to find that librarian who had set him up on the damned thing. The woman didn't seem too surprised when Marty had managed to track her down and told her of his problem.
"Oh, those old PCs always do that," she said. "Unfortunately, there is only one man in town who can fix them and he's on vacation now."
"Great..." Marty muttered, not happy to leave his future unfinished, so to speak. But there were still other avenues of approach.... "Where's the phone book?"
The librarian looked a tad amused. "Book?" she repeated. "The city hasn't published phone books in some...ten years!"
"Fine," Marty said, taking a deep breath and telling himself to remain calm. "Where do I find addresses and stuff now?"
The woman showed him to a computer terminal again--but this one was much, much smaller and compact. The screen was as thin as a children's book, and was connected to a small keyboard. The librarian called it a "laptop."
Marty was amazed at the speed the computer ran, especially considering it's small size. And it was very easy to use. It took him only a minute to enter his name in the search program and pull up his 2017 address: 826 Roslyndale Drive, phone number 6565-1258.
A bit confused on why the phone number had eight digits--but racking it up as another weird future thing--Marty found a scrap of paper and a pencil lying near the computer. At least they haven't done away with those yet, he thought as he copied his address and phone number on it. Then he left the terminal and the library, ready to find this house of his.
Local band, The Pinheads, release their first album nationally today. The self-titled debut is the cumulation of a dream for a band discovered by MCA Records only last spring--
Guitarist and vocalist Martin "Marty" McFly, 22, of The Pinheads wed Jennifer Parker, 22, in an intimate family ceremony Saturday afternoon. George McFly, science fiction writer and father of the groom, said that the ceremony was restricted to close friends and family--
After a marriage of seven years, local musician Marty McFly, 30, and wife, Jennifer, 29, became proud first-time parents of twins last night. The boy and girl were born at Hill Valley Community Hospital. Son Martin Seamus McFly, Jr. weighed in at 6lb, 5oz, while daughter Marlene Jane McFly checked in at a healthy 6lb, 4oz. "Marty Jr." entered the world first at 11:39PM, while his sister, Marlene, arrived five minutes later--
Marty McFly, guitarist of the rock band, The Pinheads, filed for bankruptcy on Wednesday. McFly, once one of the wealthiest man in Hill Valley, has claimed a debt of twenty million dollars due to poor investments and--
Jennifer Parker McFly, 45, filed for divorce on Tuesday from her husband, musician Marty McFly, 46, citing "irreconcilable differences." The news did not come as much of a shock from those who knew the couple well. Said David McFly, 50, brother of Marty, "Jennifer's had to deal with a lot the past 23 years--I'm not entirely surprised to see this happen now." The couple, who have two children--
Doc Brown's taxi reached the McFly house after a twenty minute drive. Once the cab pulled up to the house, Doc didn't quite know what to do. He couldn't exactly get out and go up to the door, asking to speak to Marty's past self. In fact, Doc didn't even know for sure if this was his Marty's destination.
Still, the cabbie was growing impatient, and the fare was increasing by the second. Doc paid him with some 2010 currency he had brought, tipping nicely for the inconvenience that cash would be to the cabby. For reasons Doc wasn't quite sure of, cash was taken always with reluctance and with an additional surcharge. The cabbie frowned at the currency, but accepted it anyway and drove off to leave Doc and Einstein standing on the curb across the street.
Doc stared at the house on the other side of the street. It was a large, sprawled, three story affair, very ultramodern and boxy in appearance. A high wooden fence surrounded the front yard, and all the windows Doc could see were mirrored. Obviously, Marty-of-the-future preferred privacy.
There were some strange things, however. Although this did appear to be a wealthy neighborhood, most of the other houses were empty, their exteriors beginning to show signs of neglect. The pavement in the street was badly cracked, weeds beginning to grow out of those cracks. It gave Doc a touch of the creeps--the neighborhood felt almost like a ghost town, just as the cabbie had said.
Something has changed, Doc thought with certainty. Something has changed for Marty since I last looked him up.
But whatever that change was, it was an odd one. The building across the street was clearly state-of-the-art and very, very expensive. It wasn't at all like Hilldale--yet the area seemed to have the same feel in the air, a feeling of disappointment, broken dreams and despair.
Doc snorted softly, brushing all those thoughts from his head. Pure imagination, he thought. Nothing to support it save for the fact this neighborhood is deserted. Doc looked down at Einstein. The dog seemed to feel his gaze and looked up at his master, whining softly.
"What do you think we should do, boy?" Doc asked softly. "Head back on into town?"
Einstein barked, the sound echoing loudly though the dead streets. Doc took another look at the house across the street and sighed. Back to square one, now, he thought, walking away from the building towards what he hoped was the direction a busy street would be located.
Marty managed to find a taxi outside the library and flagged it down. The cab driver seemed to recognize him, asking the same confusing questions as Zoey Stuart from the library had--when had he gotten back in town, how was his sister and mother, his father. Marty managed vague responses, asking the cab driver to take him home. That, at least, gave the cabbie something else to do other than give Marty--or Marty Jr.--the third degree. The cab driver made a most interesting comment, though, as he landed the taxi by the curb at the destination.
"Not to scare you or anything, but I just dropped off some old man here before I picked you up," the cabbie said. "He wanted to go to your father's house."
Marty's ears immediately perked up at those words. "Old man?" he repeated, forcing his voice to stay calm. "What did he look like?"
The cabbie shrugged, stopping the car and turning his head to look at the teen. "Tall guy with a lot of white hair. Oh, and he had a dog with him."
Marty's eyes widened and his heart started to pound. The Doc! he thought. It's gotta be the Doc! He came back for me!
With a straight face, not betraying his exciting realization, Marty nodded slowly. "I see," he said, opening the door and starting to slide outside. The cabbie stopped him.
"Hey, McFly, I need the fare."
"The fare," Marty said. "Right. How much?"
"One hundred, ninety two dollars and seventy six cents," the driver said.
Marty couldn't believe the cost, once again--in 1987, a drive that far and short would cost about fifteen bucks--but he stuck his thumb to the little metallic plate that the cabbie was holding out to him and paid it. Marty hoped the cabbie wouldn't look at the identity of the person, if it was even displayed. It would definitely create questions he didn't want to answer!
"Thanks!" he told the cab driver, quickly getting out of the car before the man could respond. The cab took off, returning back to the sky as Marty turned to stare at the house before him. And what a house it was--all white, ultramodern, three stories high. Marty's first thought was that the building looked like a stack of boxes, all pilled high. His second was one of amazement, that he would actually have the cash to get a place like this. This place wasn't merely a house--it was a mansion!
"Wow," he murmured, impressed. But that feeling was short lived. Once he tore his eyes away from the building and looked at the rest of his surroundings, Marty's excitement was soon dashed. The other buildings on the street were all boarded up, the exteriors starting to show signs of wear and tear--plants growing out of gutters, lawns filled with weeds, broken windows where glass was not covered. The sidewalks and street were cracked badly.
But it grew worse. As Marty stepped on his future property and began to circle the wood fence that protected the huge house, he got a breathtaking view of Eastwood ravine. And it wasn't so much the beauty of the view that took his breath away--it was the fact the ravine's edge was about five hundred feet away from the back of the house. The back portion of the fence was missing, having been claimed who knew how long before by the erosion.
"Holy shit," Marty muttered, shaking his head in a mixture of amazement and disappointment as he stared at the approaching ravine's edge. No wonder the houses in this neighborhood were being deserted! It was like living next to a ticking timebomb.
Tearing his eyes away from the crumbling edge, Marty looked back up at the house. He recalled the cabby's words and once again felt a surge of hope and excitement. "Is the Doc in my house now?" he muttered aloud. It seemed unlike the scientist, but if he had taken the trouble to get out to this house....
Marty decided there was one way to find out. He grabbed hold of the fence and hoisted himself up and over. He landed on an almost impeccable lawn--at least things weren't being neglected with his future yard. Marty crept over to the closest window and peered into it. He was greeted with merely a reflection of his face. The window was mirrored.
"Damn," Marty muttered, disappointed. He looked around at other windows as he slowly rounded the back of the house--all the windows were mirrored!
This was going to be a little harder than Marty had first thought.
He walked slowly around the first level of the house, staying close to the building on the chance someone in there would look out and happen to see him. Even if this was, technically, his house, he was also, technically, trespassing.
Marty's luck changed as he rounded the corner of the building, hitting the side of the house. A window, about two feet wide and three feet high, was cracked open a few inches. "All right!" he whispered, grinning as he rushed over. Marty peered through the crack before he tried easing the window open more, to make sure he wasn't going to be dropping in on anyone. The room he was staring into was a bathroom, empty.
Marty smiled, wondering if his luck had finally taken a turn for the better. The window slid the rest of the way open freely, with plenty of room to climb in. Marty boosted himself up, swung his legs over the windowsill, and jumped to the tiled floor. Unfortunately, he slid in a small pool of water as he landed. It happened so fast and unexpectedly that Marty wasn't given a chance to react. He slipped backwards, his head coming into contact with the side of the bathtub as he fell.
Marty felt a flash of pain, then everything went very black and quiet.
Doc Brown stepped off the city bus, back in downtown Hill Valley. He checked the time again on one of his watches that he had coordinated to the local time--8:35AM. Doc sighed softly, heading back to the alleyway to check on the time machine. This is beginning to feel like finding a needle in a haystack, he thought, frowning as he walked.
Einstein stopped suddenly, emitting a strange whining at the back of his throat. Doc, always trusting his pet's reactions, stopped as well and looked curiously at his dog. "What is it, Einie?" he asked. "Do you know where Marty is?"
The dog took hold of the hem of Doc's long coat and tugged on it, pulling him towards one of the buildings. Doc, wondering if his pet had indeed located Marty, followed without protest. Einstein led him into what looked to Doc a twenty-first century drug store. The dog went down an aisle, stocked with school supplies, then stopped at the end of the row and looked up at his master, whining again.
Doc frowned faintly at his dog, completely baffled with his behavior now. Something around the corner had caught Einstein's attention. Slowly, Doc looked around a shelf of printer cartridges to see what it was.
A tall, blond-haired man, looking to be somewhere in his 30's, stood at a shelf filled with stuffed animals. Beside him was a dark haired little girl, perhaps five years old, and a tall woman with greying hair. Doc saw only their backs as they talked softly.
"...She's fine and the baby's fine and it was a good delivery," the man was saying. "Oh, Mom, I'm so happy! I've got a son now! I can't believe it!"
"I know, dear, I'm so pleased for you all," the woman answered. She changed her tone slightly as her head bowed down to the child. "Emily, how do you like having a younger brother?"
"I dunno yet," the girl answered. She pointed to a white stuffed teddy bear and looked at the man. "Daddy, can I have that?"
"Not now, Emmy, we're looking for a gift for Mommy and the baby."
As Doc watched the trio, he began to feel cold all over. The voices--at least those belonging to the man and woman--were familiar to him. The sounded a bit different--age, after all, could alter one's voice pitch ever so slightly--but Doc was nearly positive on the identity of those people before him. His theory was confirmed a moment later as the older woman turned around.
It was his wife, Clara. Her long hair was streaked with grey now, additional lines etched on her face--but she still looked like the woman he married back in 1885. Time had caused her to age quite gracefully--her figure was still slender and her posture was still straight and alert. Doc did a quick calculation, realizing she was about 72 years old now. Yet she looked only as if she was in her mid-50's--future rejuvenation could be a wonderful thing. Doc found it hard to breathe, however, staring at his spouse and realizing she was nearly the age he was now--or was in 1987. It was the strangest sensation.
Then the man turned around, and Doc's jaw dropped. The man bore a striking resemblance to him, facially. Doc's hair had been blond before going white, as it had started to in the 1950's. This man's own hair was short and styled rather conservatively. But the shape of his face, of his nose, the width of his mouth...all Doc had on his own face. But not the blue eyes--those were a surprise when that child was born, perhaps the result of a latent gene....
The man was Verne Brown, age 39. Doc was certain. His hands trembled as he watched the adults and the child--Verne's child, Doc and Clara's granddaughter. Despite his vow from earlier, despite the fact no one should know too much about their future, Doc couldn't help but watch and listen. Overwhelming curiosity, combined with shock, caused his feet to stay stuck to the floor tiles.
"Jules said he might stop at the house tonight, when we bring the baby back," Verne said to Clara as the little girl was looking through the stuffed toys on the lower shelf. "He's in the middle of grading a bunch of exams at the University, so he probably can't stay long, he said."
Clara sighed softly. "Yes, Jules is acting more like Emmett every day now. I worry about that child, I admit. Worry if burying himself in his job and in science is for the best."
"It worked out okay for Dad," Verne said. "Jules just hasn't met the right girl yet--I mean, he's better at all that serious educational stuff. I'm not so hot at it, but at least I got some social skills."
Clara smiled slightly. "Don't forget, Verne, it was in college you met your wife."
Verne grinned at the words, the expression transforming his face instantly to the way he looked as a child--when Doc had last seen him. Doc gasped softly, clutching the shelf of ink cartridges for support at the wild sensation of deja vu that swept over him. "Yeah, I guess education was good for something."
"Gramma?"
Clara looked down at the girl tugging on her arm--Emily, Doc remembered. Her name is Emily--and smiled. "What is it, dear?"
Emily, with long dark curly hair reminiscent of Clara's, big blue eyes, and a pout that looked just like the one Verne had perfected as a child, held out a doll she had found with the other toys. "Will you buy this f'me?" she asked with a gaze of pure innocence and deep pleading.
Verne quickly intervened before Clara could reply. "No, honey. Grandma doesn't need to get you any new toys. You have lots of toys at home."
Emily's lower lip trembled. "But not this dolly," she insisted. "An' I named her already--her name's Samantha."
Verne took in another breath to reply, but his mother beat him to it. "All right," she said, smiling down at her granddaughter. "I'll get her for you--but only because I know how left out you must be feeling now, with a new little brother."
Emily clutched the doll to her chest, wide-eyed as she looked at her grandmother. "How'd you know?" she asked, awed.
Clara shrugged. "Oh, I spent a lot of time with children when I taught school in the past. And I know you pretty well, too," she added, stroking the girl's head. Emily, however, had already lost interest in the conversation. Her eyes were focused on something else, something near Doc. For one terrible moment, Doc was sure he'd been spotted. Then Emily beamed and knelt down.
"A doggie," she said, and Doc saw, to his horror, that Einstein was padding over to the group. "Look, Daddy, a doggie!"
Verne glanced down at the animal, and his face suddenly went white. Clara's reaction was similar. Emily did not notice either adult, petting Einstein who sat on the floor before her.
"Mom," Verne said softly. "That dog looks just like Einstein."
"I know," his mother replied in a deadly calm voice. "But it can't be."
"You know that's not true," Verne said, his voice so soft that Doc found himself leaning forward a little to catch it. "The time machines--"
Clara gave him a stern look, then glanced down at Emily at their feet. Doc wondered if the child had no idea about their strange family history. If that was the case, Doc had to admit he would be relieved--the less who knew about time travel, the better. "They don't exist anymore," Clara said softly. "You and I both know that."
Verne didn't give it up that easily, though. "You know Jules is working on his own time machine," he said. "And who's to say Dad didn't go into the future with Einstein before--"
Another hard look from Clara made the rest of his sentence die in his throat. "No more, Verne Brown," she whispered sharply. "It doesn't matter where this dog came from, or if he's even Einstein. The present is what matters right now, not the past."
With that, Clara turned and walked away--in the opposite direction from Doc's aisle. Verne looked at his mother's retreating back, clearly torn between following her and looking at the dog. Finally, family responsibility won out. "Come on, Emmy," he said, taking his daughter's hand and pulling her gently to her feet. "Let's get your doll now. We can pick out something for your brother later."
Doc watched them leave, then leaned back against the shelf and let out a deep breath. He realized he was shaking slightly--and all this from a brush with his personal future. Thank God he hadn't run into a future version of himself! Einstein returned to Doc's side, looking up innocently at his master. Doc frowned at the dog, irritated.
"Why did you have to go out there?" he muttered. Einstein merely stared at him in response. Doc shook his head and sighed, starting down the aisle to the exit. He stopped at the end, checked to make sure Clara, Verne, or the little girl were not around, then quickly left the store. Doc walked a block, to the alleyway, saw the DeLorean was still there, then sat down on one of the loading docks that was piled with garbage cans and bundles of papers and plastics to be recycled.
Einstein hopped on the cement next to him and lay down at Doc's side. Doc scratched his pet's head as he reflected over the final part of the conversation he had stumbled into.
"They don't exist anymore," Clara had said about the time machines.
"...Jules is working on his own time machine," Verne had responded. "And who's to say Dad didn't go into the future with Einstein before--"
Before what? Doc wondered. From the reaction of both his wife and son, it had been something bad. Doc was certain about that. Perhaps, he thought, they were speaking of before the death of me....
It was a most disturbing thought, one that gave Doc a cold shiver up his spine. He had already faced his death once before, thanks to that infamous tomb stone--and he had escaped it due to that foresight. Could he prevent his death, if that was what Verne and Clara were talking about, if he knew about it now?
Doc sighed deeply, feeling torn. He didn't want to know about his future, not if it would contain a death certificate. Yet, because of the time machines and with Marty's help, he had already managed to cheat death at least twice. What if this was another preventable demise? Granted, Doc would be about 106 right now, should he still be living, but with the huge leaps in medical technology that were around in the twenty-first century, and would continue to be around, he knew it was conceivable he could still be alive and in good health. During the twenty-first century, life expectancy had more than doubled.
So that ruled out any major illnesses and old age--unless he had become stuck somewhere in the past and caught something like the Black Plague. Accidents were more likely of a demise, then--yet accidents could be prevented and it bothered him that, if he died in something as trivial as a car wreck, no one had gone back to prevent it. Unless they couldn't.
Aside from the mystery of the one word spoken by Verne--before--there was the fact that the time machines were destroyed now. Why was that? It was true that Doc had, at one point, decided it was best for all if he put time travel in the past. But something inside him enjoyed it far too much to let it be--so he had built the train, and later a second DeLorean. Why were they gone thirty years later? Had he stipulated to Clara and the boys that, upon his death, the time machines would be laid to rest as well? It seemed like something he would do, but Doc also knew his wife and sons well enough that they wouldn't listen, not if his death could be prevented in some way.
Doc sighed again, looking down at Einstein. "I guess I have two choices, boy," he said softly. "I can just leave things well enough alone, or look up my future history."
Einstein's tail wagged, as if agreeing with him. But before Doc could do either option, he had to locate Marty. He couldn't go running off to the library or whatnot and ignore the original reason he had returned here in the first place.
Doc stood up, had Einstein stay where he was, then unlocked the DeLorean, started it up and flew it over to land on a building. Next, he opened the trunk and pulled out a black car cover. The surface of the building's roof was black, and with the cover on the car the DeLorean would hopefully be nearly invisible to the eyes of those flying above.
Finally, once the DeLorean was locked up and secured again, Doc covered it up and found an old rickety ladder to climb down to the street below. He had used this roof before, in 2015, to store the DeLorean while he had gone exploring. Hopefully the time machine would remain as undisturbed now as it did then.
Once he joined his dog in the alleyway, Doc realized he was back where he started. He looked at Einstein. "Do you know where else Marty went, aside from the phone booth?"
Einstein barked, wagging his tail.
Doc swept his arm forward. "Then lead the way."
Einstein left the alleyway and headed for the Cafe 80's.