"Every positive value has its price in negative terms... The genius of Einstein leads to Hiroshima." -- Pablo Picasso
"Must it be? It must be." -- Ludwig Van Beethoven
Marty McFly was never entirely sure what he did so wrong that fateful night when he and Jennifer Parker had their first big argument. The two of them had been dating for about a year and in that time had one or two of the little disagreements that most couples usually went through at one point or another -- but what happened the Saturday night in mid-January was a new level for them both.
Marty had been running late most of the day. It had started when his practice with the Pinheads had lasted longer than he had expected, then his mother had called him at drummer Jeremy Wilson’s place, where they were rehearsing, and asked him to stop by the store on the way home to pick up some groceries. He had done so, but the traffic and the lines at the store had been bad. The delay meant he was late with the stuff his mother needed to fix dinner, pushing the meal back as well. With a 7 P.M. movie date with Jennifer, Marty had blown out of his house at 7:05 P.M. and broken several traffic laws on his way to meet her.
He was twenty minutes late, though, and Jennifer was not pleased.
"Where have you been?" she asked with a frown, sitting outside on her porch swing as he drove up. It was a fairly chilly night out and Marty wondered why she had bothered to stay outside at all -- unless she had stepped out believing it would be a few minutes’ wait. He swallowed hard, apologies the first words on his lips.
"God, Jen, I’m sorry. The Pinheads’ practice went over and then my mom had me go to the grocery store and--" Marty stopped talking. Jennifer was still looking at him rather coolly. "What’s wrong?"
"What’s wrong?" Jennifer echoed. "You show up late tonight and you don’t know?"
Marty did not like the way this was going. Oh God, he thought, his mind frantically scrambling around for a reason why his girlfriend was acting the way she was. Am I forgetting something? "I know I’m late," he said, trying to stall for time as his brain hashed over her words. "And I would’ve called but I figured it would just be faster to drive straight over."
"You should have called," Jennifer said, folding her arms across her chest. "You don’t have any idea what tonight is, do you?"
Christ, not one of those trick questions! Marty swallowed hard and managed a smile. "Ah... sure I do."
Jennifer eyed him skeptically, arching an eyebrow. "Do you?" She raked a gaze down at his jeans, t-shirt, and unbuttoned shirt ensemble. "Then why are you dressed like that?"
"What did you expect me to wear for a movie?" Marty asked -- and then, for the first time, he noticed how Jennifer was dressed. A black dress, stockings, and heels. Her hair was pinned up and her face carefully made up. She stared at him, her expression darkening swiftly to a look of hurt-tinged anger. "I’m missing something here, aren’t I?"
"The movie was tomorrow," she said. "Sunday night." Jennifer sighed and shook her head. "I can’t believe you forgot!" she muttered, turning around and heading for the front door.
"Jen! What did I forget? What we were supposed to do tonight?"
Jennifer paused, her hand on the doorknob. "Only one of the biggest milestones in our relationship so far," she said. "We went on our first date a year ago tonight, Marty! We were supposed to have dinner tonight at the country club. I made reservations a month ago, remember?" She chuckled once, without humor. "No, I guess you didn’t!"
That said, she entered her house and slammed the door shut none too softly. Marty ran up the steps to the door and knocked on it. "Jennifer?" There was no immediate answer. He knocked a little harder. "Jennifer? I’m so sorry! Can I talk to you, please?"
The door was opened then, but not by Jennifer. Susan Parker, her mother, looked at Marty with a little sympathy. "Jennifer wants to be alone right now, Marty," she said.
Marty took a step away from the door, a little embarrassed that her parents were home and having to hear all of this. "All right," he said. "I understand." He hurried to his truck and got inside, waiting until then to chew himself out.
"Christ, McFly, I can’t believe you blew this!" He started his truck and pulled out of the Parker driveway, his mind far away from the cab of his vehicle as he replayed Jennifer’s words around in his head.
Their first anniversary, already? Marty hated to admit it, even to himself, but he really didn’t know that! He did remember that he and Jennifer had started dating sometime before Valentine’s Day (because they had spent that evening together, having dinner somewhere) and sometime after New Year’s. But the exact date had escaped him.
Marty sighed deeply, a little peeved at himself and even a little peeved at his girlfriend. He had genuinely forgotten and didn’t think he had deserved exactly the reaction he’d gotten. He could’ve sworn that he and Jennifer were supposed to see a movie tonight, not tomorrow -- and the dinner was kind of a surprise to him, period. Although, now that he thought about it, he did vaguely remember her saying something about a dinner this weekend. But he had assumed perhaps she meant after the movie, and a pizza or something at that.
When he got back home, he immediately tried calling his girlfriend. Her mother answered it and Marty nearly hung up. He always felt slightly uncomfortable speaking to her parents and the feeling was grossly magnified now that Jennifer was apparently mad at him. He swallowed his fear, though, and asked to speak to Jennifer. There was a long pause as her mother went to fetch her, then Mrs. Parker came back on the line.
"I’m sorry, Marty, but Jennifer is... resting right now," she said. "She can’t come to the phone."
Marty didn’t buy that excuse for a second. He swallowed a sigh of frustration. "Can you tell her to call me back when she’s done?" he asked.
"I’ll do that," Mrs. Parker promised. "Good night, Marty."
"Good night."
Marty hung up, certain that Jennifer wasn’t going to call him back, at least not that night. He sighed again, pausing long enough to drum his fingers on the top of his desk before getting back up and deciding to take his friends up on an earlier offer to go to a party at Josh Carter’s house. He certainly wasn’t going to get to go on his date now. A couple more phone calls to his friends to let them know he was coming, and he left his house.
Marty returned home after midnight, having used his free time in a somewhat productive manner if nothing else. The situation with Jennifer had haunted him, however, despite the encouraging words the guys had given him about it from their experiences with their own girls. The next morning, when his mother casually mentioned that Jennifer had called the night before, he nearly fell out of his chair.
"She called?" he asked, not sure he had heard right.
"Yes. About half an hour after you left for the party," his mother said.
Marty wasted no time in getting to the phone in his room and dialing Jennifer’s number. She answered on the second ring. He smiled at the sound of her voice.
"Jennifer, it’s me."
There was silence, then a faint click. Marty didn’t believe it when he heard the dial tone blare in his ear a moment later. He redialed her number quickly, figuring that something must’ve gone wrong at her end. It was picked up after three rings by Jennifer again. Her hello this time was more guarded.
"Jen, it’s Marty. My mom said you called last night."
There was a long pause at the other end. "I did," Jennifer finally admitted, in a rather flat, listless voice, not clarifying anything. Marty waited a moment, giving her the time to say more if she wished, before plunging ahead.
"I’m really sorry about last night," he said. "I know how much you were looking forward to the dinner and everything--"
"Do you?" Jennifer asked, her voice chilled now.
Marty didn’t like the way this was going but continued to talk. "I’m a jerk for forgetting, okay? A total jerk. But I really did forget and I feel terrible about it!"
"I’m sure you do," Jennifer said. "Terrible enough that you went to a party."
Marty caught the sarcasm in those words, loud and clear. His heart started beating faster at Jennifer’s implications. "Wait a minute, here," he said. "You know about that?"
"Your mother told me when I called last night. You know, after I calmed down a little I was ready to finally talk to you about last night -- and I couldn’t believe it that you weren’t home, that you went out!" Jennifer’s words came out sharp, the pitch and tone to them causing Marty to wince and hold the phone away from his ear a few inches.
"Jennifer, what did you expect me to do? Sit at home and wait for you to call?"
From the silence at the other end of the line, it was clear that his girlfriend had expected him to do just that. Marty sighed. "Jennifer, I figured you wanted some time to calm down and since you obviously didn’t want to see me or talk to me last night--"
Jennifer snorted softly. "My God, Marty, I can’t believe you’re being so... so stupid!" She hung up before he could say another word.
"Jennifer!" Marty cried, even as the dial tone started to hum in his ear. He slammed the cordless handset back into the charger, genuinely angry now. "Dammit," he muttered. "Why is she so ticked that I went out last night? What does this have to do with anything?"
No answer was given to him, at least not that day.
* * *
Early the next morning, on Monday, the shrill sound of the phone ringing dragged Marty awake from a sound sleep. Blinking for a moment in the darkness, he rolled over and instinctively reached over to his night stand to pick up his cordless phone. "Hello?" he mumbled, still half-asleep.
"Marty, it’s me," the voice said on the other end.
It took Marty a moment to figure out who "me" was -- and not his girlfriend, that was for sure. He felt slightly disappointed at that, though he doubted Jennifer would call so early in the day even if they were on stable ground. "Doc," he murmured. "What time is it?"
"A little after 6:30," Doc Brown replied. "Sorry to bother you so early. Were you still asleep?"
Marty yawned. "No, I always get up at the crack of dawn on a day off from school. Yeah, you woke me."
"I apologize," Doc said. "Listen, I was wondering if you would like to go with me today back to 1906. I have to pick up Clara’s birthday gift and would like some company."
Marty rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. "You mean travel in time again?"
"Yes. It would be just you and me, as I want the gift to be a total surprise to Clara. If I take Jules and Verne with me, they might accidently tell her before I give her the gift, and her birthday isn’t until late March. That’s a long time to keep something like this quiet."
"Uh huh," Marty said, trying to sound interested as he struggled to think about Doc’s question. "What time would we leave?" he asked.
"As soon as possible. That’s why I’m phoning you so early. Is 7:15 okay?"
Marty pushed himself up enough to look at his clock. 6:38 A.M. That would give him about 35 minutes to get up, dressed, and eat something before then. "I guess," he said slowly, running his fingers through his mussed hair.
"Great. I’ll pick you up then."
"OK," Marty agreed. He hung up the phone and sat in bed for a moment, just trying to wake up. Last night he had stayed up until almost 3 A.M. practicing with his guitar and writing out new songs. If nothing else, the fight with Jennifer was giving him some good stuff to work with for his music.
Marty got out of bed and went over to the window for a look outside. The sun hadn’t risen yet and from the glow of the streetlight he could see it was still raining like it had been for the last twenty-four hours. It had fit his mood but he hoped that whenever Doc took them -- 1906 seems like a pretty random year! -- the weather might be a little bit nicer.
After staring outside at the rain hitting the glass for a minute, he got dressed and was able to have a quick breakfast alone -- though he could hear his brother getting ready for work down the hall -- before Doc arrived in the DeLorean.
Marty hurried outside, dodging raindrops as well he could on his way to the car, idling next to the curb.
"Are you the first one up?" Doc asked him as he pulled the car away from the McFly house.
"I heard Dave getting ready for work," Marty said. "But I doubt he knew I was up so early and I’m almost sure no one saw you, if that’s what you’re worried about. So where’re we going?"
Doc pointed to the destination time already set up. April 17, 1906, 4:00 P.M. Their destination location: San Francisco, California.
"There’s a special shop in San Francisco that makes clocks," Doc explained, noticing Marty’s puzzled look as he took in the display. "They went out of business a few months after this date. For Clara’s birthday gift, I’d like to order her a custom made clock, so we may be in the city for a few days waiting for it to be made. I thought you might like a little vacation from school -- and perhaps some time away might clear your head about the situation with Jennifer."
Doc had known about that, of course -- Marty had called him the day before and mentioned it, wondering if his old friend would have anything to say about that. Especially since Jennifer and himself were supposed to get married someday and have two kids. The scientist’s response to that hadn’t been very encouraging.
"The future is constantly changing," he had said. "Our choices and actions of the present constantly rewrite it. We really do make our futures whatever we want them to be. And even if you and Jennifer were married in 2015 back in October, it could very well change if you don’t mend your relationship."
Marty hadn’t liked the sound of that -- not the part about him and Jen having no future together, anyway.
"I guess," he said in response to Doc’s destination explanation. "She’s the one who’s mad at me, though." He paused, considering. "But it does kind of tick me off that’s she’s not even letting me tell my side of the story. I mean, so I forgot our anniversary? It’s just a date! And why did she expect me to sit at home and wait for her to call that night?"
"Dates are very important to women," Doc said, squinting thought the windshield through the heavy downpour and early morning darkness. "I’m sure if I forgot our anniversary, Clara would be a little hurt."
"But that’s different; that’s marriage," Marty said. "Anyway, yeah, she might be ticked, but I can’t see her not speaking to you because of it!" He sighed heavily, that sensation of beating his head against an unrelenting wall coming over him again. "This is so frustrating!" he moaned, burying his face in his hands.
"I’m sure it will resolve itself," Doc assured him. "Jennifer just needs a few days to calm down. Maybe you should think about sending her some flowers in apology."
"She’s the one who’s being so irrational," Marty muttered. "I don’t know why I have to be the one to apologize, especially when I already did and she completely ignored it."
"But if you love someone, you sometimes have to do that," Doc said. "I think you know that."
Marty shifted in his seat, slightly uncomfortable. "Maybe so, but I don’t necessarily like it," he said.
Doc waited until they were in the outskirts of town before turning the car’s hover circuits on. "Prepare yourself for temporal displacement," he told Marty as the car approached 88 miles per hour. "It may be a little bumpy."
After the damp darkness in 1986, the clear sunny day in 1906 was blinding in comparison. Doc Brown looked down at the city beneath them and immediately steered the car out to the countryside, where there were less buildings and population. He wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. One of these years, I’ve got to rig something in the DeLorean to hide it from prying eyes, he thought, a frequent lament anytime he traveled through time now.
"I’m going to keep the DeLorean in that abandoned barn," he told Marty, pointing to the rickety structure that they were approaching from the air. Not more than a dozen or so paces from the barn was the remains of a house, destroyed by a fire, apparently; a charred foundation and a blackened and crumbling fireplace were all that remained. "It looks like no one goes up there anymore now."
Marty frowned as he looked down at the building. "Are we going to stay in there, too?" he asked doubtfully as the car started to descend.
Doc shook his head, his attention focused through the windshield. "No, I brought plenty of the contemporary currency so we don’t have to worry about that." The car touched down a moment later and Doc stopped it, a few issues needing to be addressed before he pulled into the barn.
"I’ve got a couple changes of clothes for you," he said, reaching behind the seat to pull out the paper bag that he had packed for Marty. "We’re going to be staying in a rather high society location, so the clothes reflect that."
Marty accepted the bag with a little reluctance. "This better not be as bad as that Middle Ages stuff," he said.
Doc shook his head. "No, it’s just some turn of the century suits. About like what I’m wearing."
For the first time, Marty seemed to notice that Doc wasn’t wearing garb from the 1980’s. "Hey, that looks familiar," he said as he eyed the scientist’s clothes. "I swear I’ve seen that before...."
"I think you have," Doc said, nodding. "I believe this was what I wore when I made that visit to you in 1985, after you returned from 1885. The attire may not exactly be on the cutting edge of fashion, as it was new in 1894, but it will suffice and it’s better to be a little passe than wear something that hasn’t yet been created." He looked at the weathered barn a dozen feet away. "Why don’t you change in there, and let me know how the barn looks inside?"
"All right," Marty agreed, opening the door. Doc watched as he slipped into the barn, then got out of the car himself to unload the small suitcase that he had packed for their stay. It didn’t contain that much, just a couple changes of clothing, and some money. The sum of the cash was rather high, though -- Doc preferred buying things as needed when time traveling instead of bringing trunks and suitcases containing items for every possible contingency. Not to mention things from the time they were in wouldn’t be questioned at all if seen, as would be the case with more futuristic things.
Once the luggage was out of the trunk, Doc looked around at the view that surrounded this point, a mile or two from the city limits. San Francisco appeared rather different than the city that Doc had seen before, in his time -- smaller, of course, but the biggest thing he noticed was the lack of recognizable buildings. It looked like an entirely different city.
Marty joined him about ten minutes later, looking a little unhappy in his period attire. Doc watched as he approached, giving his clothes a once over to make sure that he had put everything on that he needed to, and correctly. Unfamiliar clothing could be tricky when one dressed in it the first time, Doc had found. But as he looked Marty over, he didn’t see anything grossly out of place. The scientist had given him some black slacks and a crisp white button down shirt with a high collar. Over that he wore suspenders (though Doc currently couldn’t see them), a buttoned dark grey vest, a black cutaway coat with tails and a black bow tie. On his head was a black derby, perched at a rather cocky angle, and black leather shoes were on his feet.
Overall, Doc thought he looked like a typical wealthy young man from this time, perfect for the hotel that they would be staying at. "You might want to slick your hair back when we reach the hotel," he said as Marty took off the hat for a moment, a grimace on his face already as he tugged at the high collar. "That was the contemporary style, but I don’t think people will notice your hair so much if you wear the hat."
"I can’t believe people normally dressed like this," Marty said. "I didn’t even put on this much stuff last year for the prom!"
"This is the Edwardian Era, when people loved to dress elaborately," Doc said. "Believe it or not, it was very common for people to change clothes several times a day. Our attire is very much what the more well-to-do citizens wore. The hotel we’re going to be staying in is one of the more high class ones and this stuff was practically a requirement to be able to stay there."
"It’s damn uncomfortable, that’s for sure," Marty said, still tugging at the collar.
"Consider yourself fortunate," Doc said. "Women’s clothing throughout history has always been much more uncomfortable. We got off rather lucky."
"So where’re were staying at?"
Doc started to walk back to the DeLorean, a couple dozen feet away from where he was. "A hotel called The Parker Palace. I took the liberty to reserve a couple rooms there. The place has a very good reputation as one of the finest hotels in the city -- and it’s near the shop I need to go to order the clock."
"Wait a minute," Marty said, the frown on his face now one of confusion. "How could you’ve made reservations when we just got here?"
"I came back here a few days earlier this morning after calling you to see if you wanted to come and made the reservations then."
"Oh."
Doc slipped into the car, Marty hovering outside the still-open driver side door. "The hotel is a couple miles from here, in the city. By the time we get down there and check in, the clock shop will be closed, so I’ll have to take care of that tomorrow morning, first thing. The city does offer some entertainment, however. The hotel, for instance, has dinner and dancing in the ballroom every night, which sounds like it might be fun."
Doc paused as he closed his door, then stopped Marty as he was about to shut the other door from the outside. "Is the barn all right inside?"
The teen nodded. "About the only thing in that place is some old hay and barn equipment. The space by the big doors is clear, though."
"Great. Can you get those doors opened for me?"
"No problem."
Marty shut the door and jogged over to the slightly ajar doors in question. Even from inside the car, Doc could hear the squeak of the rusty hinges protesting the movement. Marty struggled a little with the doors, then they gave up their fight and allowed themselves to be propped open all the way. Doc waited until his friend was out of the way, then started the car and drove it slowly and cautiously into the barn, blazing the headlights into the dim interior as he went. Just as Marty had said, the space before the doors was cleared of objects, save for old hay scattered on the dirt floor.
Once the car and the time circuits were shut off, Doc got out and took a moment to pull a dark colored car cover from the back seat. There was no use borrowing trouble if someone took a peek into the barn during their stay in the city, although Doc didn’t think it was terribly likely. From the looks of things, no one came up here. Still....
"You think it’ll be safe?" Marty asked as Doc locked the door.
"I think so," Doc said, trying to open the door and noting with satisfaction that it would not budge. "I’ll be checking on it every day just to be sure." He slipped the keys into his vest pocket and picked up the car cover from where he had temporarily set it on the hood as he locked up, shaking it out over the cooling time machine. "There aren’t any Tannens around now in this city -- I’m fairly certain, anyway -- and this thing is beyond the comprehension of most people of today. Biff, I hope, was a fluke that’ll never happen again." He sighed a little as he circled the car to tuck the cover around it. "One of these days, soon, I’ve gotta figure out some way to create a holographic image to hide the machines when they’re out...."
"How far’s the city?" Marty asked, interrupting his train of thought before it had really had a chance to begin.
"A couple miles or so," Doc said, stepping away from the DeLorean to make sure it was completely covered. A tempting idea tugged at his mind as he glanced around the barn and spotted a couple old piles of hay tucked in corners of the building. Maybe it would be better if I covered the time machine with that stuff....
"A couple miles?" Marty asked, aghast. "Jeez! These shoes are already cramping my feet."
Doc turned away from the DeLorean and started heading for the doors, still propped open. "It could be worse," he said. "At least it’s not twenty miles."
"Yeah, and thank God I found someone to give me a ride into town that time," Marty said, rolling his eyes. But by the wry smile on his face, Doc knew he wasn’t really miffed with that, not anymore.
"We might as well get started," Doc said as he walked out of the barn. Marty followed him and helped get the barn doors closed again and looking as if they hadn’t been moved at all. Then, after picking up the small suitcase, they were on their way towards the city.
* * *
"San Francisco sure looks different now," Marty said as they strolled down the street the hotel was supposed to be on. "I don’t think I’ve even seen half these buildings before. The look brand new."
"Things tend to change a lot in eighty years," Doc replied with a shrug. "That’s one reason why I love time travel so much. It’s fascinating to see the past face-to-face."
But some things were better left in the past, Marty thought, looking down at his clothes. He couldn’t believe people dressed up this much now, with no good reason. "But it’s weird that most of these buildings look so different now -- usually things don’t change that much."
"The earthquake had something to do with that," Doc said. "Leveled the whole city, almost, and what the quake didn’t destroy, fire would. Thank God that’s still in the future now!"
Now that Marty thought of that, it did make sense. He had almost forgotten that they were in the city before the huge record quake. He looked around with a new feeling of awe, knowing that all too soon the current structures around them would be reduced to rubble, gone forever from the skyline.
"There’s the Parker Palace," Doc said, stopping so fast that Marty almost walked right into him. He pointed to the building across the cobblestone street. It was about twelve stories high, one of the taller buildings that Marty had seen in this time period. The structure was made of brick and iron, with large windows trimmed in stained glass looking onto the street. Marty watched men and women, all overdressed in his eyes, come and go out of the large glass doors, manned by a uniformed doorman. He had to give Doc credit for one thing -- in these clothes, they blended in perfectly with the other guests.
"Pretty nice," he said as they crossed the street during a break in the traffic of horses and wagons. "This isn’t setting you back too much, is it?"
"No, don’t worry about that," Doc said, waving the concern away.
"Where do you get all that period cash, anyway? I know that you’ve got a lot more for other times."
Doc gave a rather secretive smile as they stepped before the hotel and entered the doors opened by the doorman. "I have my ways and it’s actually not as difficult or expensive as you might think."
Marty thought that over as they stepped into the lobby of the hotel. He was all eyes as he looked around, noticing the elegant furnishings, the electric lights burning, even a chandelier above the doors. Men and women moved through the main room of the hotel, all of their dress looking to Marty like something out of a period movie. Even the few kids he saw were in fancy clothes. He started to follow Doc to the check-in desk, then stopped dead as his eyes caught sight of a young woman in a dark green dress, setting out what looked like refreshments or hors d’oeuvres on a table near the check-in desk.
Marty felt like he’d been socked hard in the stomach when he saw the young woman’s face, a faint frown twisting her features as she arranged the set up to her satisfaction. "Doc, look!" he hissed, grabbing his friend’s arm so hard he nearly knocked the scientist over. He pointed to the young woman in green. "It’s Jennifer!"
Doc looked where Marty was pointing. His eyes widened a bit, then abruptly narrowed. "It can’t be her," he said after a minute. "While I do agree with you that she does bear a great likeness to your girlfriend, that young woman is more likely an ancestor." He paused, thoughtful. "The name of this hotel is the Parker Palace...."
"Oh!" Marty cried, the facts clicking into place in his head. "This place is probably owned by some ancestors of hers!" He stared at the Jennifer look-alike, amazed at the resemblance. "I’m gonna see who she is." He was halfway across the room before Doc had a chance to stop him.
The young woman straightened up over the silver food trays as Marty approached her, though her attention was still focused on the refreshments. Her gown was a dark green color, looking like it might’ve been made from velvet, and trimmed in lace. Her wavy auburn hair was pinned up on top of her head, fluffed and a little poofy, a couple curls hovering near her ears. The dress looked like some of the others Marty had seen so far -- the sleeves were a little puffed at the shoulders, the collar high, and the skirts long.
Marty stared at her for a minute without speaking, feeling almost like he was in the presence of a ghost from the past. The young woman finally seemed to notice she was being watched and looked up. Even her eyes were the same shade of hazel as his girlfriend’s, though perhaps there was more green in them than brown. "May I help you?" she asked politely.
Marty blinked, startled by the apparition speaking. "What? I mean, yeah."
The young woman waited patiently for a moment for him to continue. "What may I help you with?" she asked finally.
Marty realized his mistake and hurried to correct it. "Actually, I’m fine. But you... you look like someone I know. What’s your name?"
The young woman smiled pleasantly, clasping her hands before her waist. "I’m Jane Parker. My father owns this hotel."
"Jane Parker," Marty repeated, rather stunned. Jennifer’s middle name was Jane. What a weird coincidence!
"Yes," she said. "Jane. You can call me that if you wish. I prefer that to Miss Parker." She looked at Marty, rather curious. "Are you a guest here, Mr--?"
"Uh, McFly -- Marty McFly." He looked to the left and saw Doc at the check-in desk, talking to the man there. "Yeah, I’m a guest here with my... uncle. For a few days."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. McFly," Jane said, nodding. "What is it that brings you here -- if you don’t mind me asking," she added, rather hasty. "My father says I’m too nosy with the guests here, but I can’t help it. I love to hear about all the exotic places that people have visited."
"Oh, we’re here for business, I guess, from Hill Valley, California." The words left Marty’s mouth before he could stop them and as soon as they were said, he regretted it.
Jane’s pretty face brightened. "Hill Valley? You don’t say! I have relatives there!"
Marty nervously cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Well, we just kinda moved there and haven’t had a chance to meet the people yet, really." He noticed Doc waving to him from behind Jane’s back. "Uh, I gotta go now."
Jane nodded, bending back over the hors d’oeuvres. "I hope to see you at the dance tonight. All the guests are invited."
"Yeah, I’ll be there," Marty agreed. He walked over to where Doc was waiting. The scientist passed him a silver key and stared at him rather intently.
"You shoudn’t’ve done that, Marty," he said immediately. "There’s a lot of risk interacting with the ancestors of people we know."
Marty shrugged. "I just asked her what her name was, Doc. You can’t change history doing that."
"That depends -- did she ask you for a name?"
That stopped Marty dead. He smiled, sheepish. "Well, yeah, she did."
"And what did you say?"
Marty shrugged again, dropping his eyes to the key in his hand. "The truth. I mean, I’m pretty sure I never had any relatives living in San Francisco now," he added quickly, noticing Doc about to open his mouth. "And if you registered us under different names, there won’t really be any way for us to be traced back here, right?"
Doc looked a little taken aback with that logic. "It’s still dangerous," he said. "What if someone overheard you?"
"Doubtful," Marty said. "Even if they did, why would they care about my name?"
Doc frowned a little but allowed the subject to drop. "Our rooms are right next to each other, on the top floor," he said. "Numbers 5-12 and 6-12."
Marty swallowed a groan. "Are we going to have to take the stairs?"
The inventor shook his head. "The Parker Palace is for the wealthy, remember; over there are two elevators that can take us to our rooms."
Marty’s gaze followed where Doc was pointing to see what looked like two golden cages set into the wall. "Are they safe?" he asked doubtfully, noticing how delicate they appeared.
"As safe as one could expect them to be," Doc answered, starting toward them. "We may be in a time of no elevator inspections or regulation, but I don’t recall hearing anything about an elevator car accident in this hotel."
Just because you didn’t hear about it didn’t mean that it didn’t happen, he thought, still uneasy as he followed his friend. Riding in the elevator was a nerve-wracking experience, with the mechanism creaking and groaning the entire trip. Marty kept a tight hold of one of the bars set in the back of the car, catching himself holding his breath more than once in preparation for a drop. Doc, on the other hand, didn’t look the least bit concerned.
They reached their floor after a couple minutes and stepped into a hallway with a polished hardwood floor and early electric lights installed in the walls. Elegant wallpaper patterned with swirls of ivy and navy blue flowers lined the corridor.
"This place is pretty nice," Marty commented as they strolled down the hall to their rooms.
"One of the best in the city," Doc agreed, squinting at the brass room number plaques set in the doors.
"Why haven’t I heard about it?" Marty asked. "You’d think that Jennifer would’ve mentioned it at some point, or maybe this place would be in the news for something or other. Maybe as a historical site."
"That’s probably because this place was destroyed in the earthquake this year," Doc said, stopping before one of their rooms. He hesitated before slipping the key into the lock, a slight puzzled frown on his face. "You know, I think that quake happened later this month."
Marty didn’t like the sound of that. "What?! Then why’d you bring us here now?"
Doc put the key into the lock and jimmied it around, but the door didn’t open. He looked at Marty. "Must be your room," he said, adding, "I wouldn’t bring us here for the quake, Marty. We should be long gone before it hits."
"What’s the exact date, then?" Marty asked as he reached in his pocket for the key.
Doc continued to frown, the creases in his forehead deepening. "You know, I can’t remember. I just remember that it happened in late April of this year."
"As long as it’s not in the next couple days, I’ll be happy," Marty said, stepping up to the door and trying his key into the lock. It disengaged with a faint click. He turned the brass knob and pushed it open, the first one into the room. He stopped two steps inside, flabbergasted at the furnishings.
"Wow!"
Doc took a step inside and peered in over his shoulder. "Yes, it is pretty nice," he agreed.
The floor of the room was polished hardwood like the hallway, a nice elaborately patterned rug draped over the largest portion of the floor space near the window of the room. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the window, where a window seat was installed. The forest green wallpaper glowed in the warm light. A large four poster bed sat in the center of the room, the carved headboard pushed back against the opposite wall from the door. The spread and canopy were the same color as the wallpaper. A wardrobe, dresser, and night stand, all in the same dark, polished wood as the bed, completed the furnishings.
"This is better than nice," Marty insisted, finally stepping deeper into the room. Little details now popped out at him, like the Tiffany lamps on the night stand and dresser, the Regulator clock on the wall over the bed, and a mirror hanging on the wall near the door. "I’ve seen hotels in the future that are worse off than this."
"They even have indoor plumbing here, though there are only two bathrooms for each floor," Doc said. "They’re at each end of the hall. Quite a luxury for this time."
"I think this is the nicest place I’ve stayed when we’ve time traveled," Marty said as he crossed the floor to the window to check out the view. The whole city stretched out before him, a fire escape balcony outside the glass the only thing spoiling the picture perfect scene.
"I’m going to have a look at my room, then we could go down to the lobby and have some dinner, if you’re hungry," Doc said, stepping back towards the door. "How does that sound?"
"Fine," Marty said, though he really wasn’t very hungry, not yet. It wasn’t even lunch time to his internal clock. "We can go to the thing tonight in the ballroom, right?"
Doc hesitated in the doorway. "Yes," he said. "As long as we’re both careful. That means no more slips like telling people your real name."
Marty nodded. "Sure, no problem."
This party isn’t half bad, Marty thought, looking around the room. A little overdone, maybe, but not bad at all.
After a dinner in the hotel’s street side restaurant, Doc had gone for a walk to the clock shop to check the time it would open the next morning and Marty had stayed in the hotel, taking a little time to explore it. He had taken the stairs, gradually making his way back to his room by stopping on each floor to look around. Most of the floors looked just like the one he and Doc were staying on, with perhaps a difference in a picture hung on the wall or a vase set on a table near the elevators. Once he’d returned to the twelfth floor, Marty stopped in his room for a couple minutes to make sure he looked all right (and to make sure his hair was still slicked back, as he’d done in the bathroom before dinner), then returned to the main floor as the first couples took to the dance floor in the ballroom off the lobby.
The ballroom was fitted with the same elegance as the rest of the hotel, with a polished hardwood floor, and a large chandelier hanging from a ceiling trimmed with elaborate moldings. Paintings of country scenery hung on the walls. The band had set up on a little stage toward the front, the members all finely dressed and playing a cheerful waltz tune. The music wasn’t bad, perse, but Marty couldn’t help wishing they’d have some rock ‘n roll.
Of course, if I went up there and gave them a few licks of that kinda stuff, they’d probably choke. Shocked the kids in the fifties bad enough!
Marty stood on the perimeter of the room, close to the doors that emptied into the lobby, people-watching to pass the time. He was rather glad Doc had talked him into wearing this tux get-up, even if it was rather stiff and hot -- it did allow him to blend right in with the other people at this hotel. He told himself, as he stood there and idly tapped one foot in time to the music, that he was just taking in the sights, but he knew at the back of his mind that wasn’t entirely true. He was taking in the sights, yes, but there was one sight he was searching for, specifically.
She arrived in the ballroom perhaps half an hour after the band had started to play, as the crowds began to thicken. Once again, Marty felt himself gasp at the sight of her. Not because of her beauty, which was surely there, but because of the resemblance to his girlfriend back home. It was uncanny.
Jane Parker scanned the room with her eyes, a pleasant smile set on her face. Her hair was still pinned up, but her dress had changed. The shade was a dark blue, the sleeves were shorter, and the neckline was scooped, allowing Jane to wear a glittering necklace that looked as if it was made from diamonds. Matching earrings glittered on her lobes. As Marty watched her, still unnoticed, a silver-haired man with a handlebar mustache came up to her from behind and bend his head close to have a word with her. He wondered if that was her father.
"Marty."
He turned around at the sound of his name, mildly startled. Doc stood behind him, his hat in his hand.
"I thought I’d find you here," he said before Marty had the chance to speak. "How is the dance going?"
"Oh, all right, I guess," Marty said. "Did you find out what you needed?"
The scientist nodded once. "The hours were posted on the door. I’ll be there tomorrow as soon as they open, at nine."
"That’s good." Marty shifted his position slightly so he could still keep an eye on Jane. The man was still speaking with her and Jane was nodding, her earrings bobbing a little from the movement and glittering like stars.
Doc sighed from his side, noticing the target of his gaze. "Marty, she’s not Jennifer. This young woman may look a great deal like her, but she isn’t your girlfriend."
"I know," Marty said, a little irritated that Doc thought he needed to hear such a thing. "I never said she was Jennifer."
"Perhaps not, but...." Doc left the sentence unfinished. He sighed again. "Don’t do anything you’ll regret later."
"I won’t, Doc."
The older man finished his words with Jane and leaned back, giving her a brief pat on the shoulder before moving forward into the crowds. Marty wondered if he should approach her, maybe ask her if she wanted to dance (even though he wasn’t exactly sure how to do the ballroom dancing that the crowds here appeared to know). Before he could move one step, however, a young man with blond hair beat him to it. Marty watched Jane as she was led out by the guy to the dance floor, not without feeling a faint twist of jealousy, unaware that Doc was staring at him with a clear expression of concern on his face.
When the band finished their set and took a break, the blond man kissed the back of Jane’s gloved hand and let her go. She nodded politely, then turned and made her way to Marty’s side of the room. He found himself unexpectedly nervous at her approach.
"I’m going to ask her to dance," he said aloud. "Are those steps going to be hard to pick up?"
"Not with a little practice," Doc said softly. "She might be surprised if you don’t know how to dance that way, however."
Marty shrugged. "Oh, well." He started forward, to Jane who was standing near the doorway. Marty stopped a foot away from her. Her head was turned as she looked at the band. He cleared his throat once, softly. She didn’t notice. He cleared his throat again, harder, and ended up causing himself to cough, the noise naturally causing Jane to look at him then.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
Marty nodded. "Fine," he said, managing to successfully fight off the further urge to cough. He wondered if there was a refreshment table set up somewhere in the room where he could get a drink of punch or water or something, but Marty didn’t pursue it. Jane was looking at him now, finally.
"I met you earlier this evening, didn’t I?" she asked, her eyes sharpening as she really noticed him standing next to her. "Mr. McFly, isn’t it?"
Marty nodded again, pleased that she remembered him from the other guests she had met that day. "Just Marty, please," he said. "Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to dance -- when the band starts playing again and all that, I mean."
"Sure," Jane said. "I’d enjoy that."
Marty couldn’t help smiling at her response. Jane matched his smile, once again startling the teenager with the resemblance she bore to her descendent 80 years down the line. "That’s great," he said, mentally chiding himself for suddenly being so tongue tied. He hadn’t felt this flustered around a girl since he and Jennifer had first gotten together--
The realization of that suddenly halted thought caused his stomach to give a sickening twist. Doc is right, a little voice in his head whispered. You’re using Jane as a weird substitute for Jennifer. She looks just like her! Can’t you see that?
No, Marty told himself firmly. Jane seems nice and, yeah, she’s gorgeous, but I’m not going after her because she looks like Jen. Hell, I’m not even going after her! We’re only going to be here for a few days. A dance isn’t gonna cause the end of the world and Jen’s not going to find out about this, not unless Doc tells.
"Marty?"
Marty snapped back to the present at the sound of Jane’s voice, slightly concerned. "Are you feeling well? Your face is rather pale."
"I’m fine," Marty said, his voice sounding normal to his ears. "I just thought I... felt the floor shake a little."
"Oh, if you did, it’s nothing to be worried over," Jane said, her smile back on her face. "It could be the trolley going by outside -- or maybe even an earthquake. We get them from time to time, but they’re nothing to be concerned about."
Marty felt a funny little shiver snake up his spine at those words, considering what he knew about the all-too-imminent future for this city. "Sure," he said. The band chose that moment to start a new song. Marty felt a sense he could describe only as relief at the end of their conversation as he held out his arm for Jane to take. "May I dance with you?" he asked carefully, well aware of the importance of manners in this time.
She smiled again, just like Jennifer. "You may," she agreed, gently resting her gloved hand on his arm.
* * *
Doc watched from the sidelines as Marty led Jane to the dance floor and the two began to dance to the slow waltz being played out by the band. Marty didn’t look as if he knew anything about how to do a classic dance like the waltz, but he put up a good front and Jane laughed as he tried to pick up the dance, perhaps believing that he was joking around with her. Doc, like Marty, noticed her uncanny resemblance to Jennifer Parker and shook his head a little at that. It wasn’t entirely surprising that Marty liked her, though he had to wonder if he would be dancing with Jane right now had he and Jennifer not been on uncertain terms.
"I suppose I should be relieved we’ve run into Parkers this time and not Tannens," he muttered under his breath.
Doc slowly walked the perimeter of the room, trying to keep his eye on Marty and Jane as he went. He didn’t want to intrude and stop Marty from having a good time, especially since Doc knew his friend needed some fun in his life now; the issue with Jennifer, even just a few days old, had caused him to mope a great deal more than he ever had before. If only Jane didn’t look so much like the very person Marty was seeing back home....
When the band finished their set, the couple left the dance floor and returned to the sidelines, where Doc quickly maneuvered to meet them. He was able to catch Marty alone, as he headed away from Jane towards the refreshment table at the back of the room.
"Marty, what are you doing?" he asked softly from behind the teen, touching his shoulder to get his attention.
Marty turned around and looked puzzled. "Right now? I’m getting Jane some punch. Why?"
"That’s not what I mean," Doc said quickly. "Why are you interacting with her?"
"Why not? You don’t expect me to lock myself in my room here the whole time we’re here, do you?"
"No, but I didn’t expect you to interact with any of the people here, either. At least not beyond a casual basis."
"Who says Jane and I are more than casual, Doc?"
That was a good point. There was nothing, really, Doc could cite as suggesting otherwise, save for his own personally feelings on the matter. "I’d just prefer that we play it safe," he said.
Marty looked mildly frustrated. "Then why’d you bring me here, Doc? Didn’t you say yourself that you though I should get out of the house, stop thinking about Jen a little?"
"I did, but I didn’t expect you to spend time with someone who looks just like the very person you’re dating back home. What would Jennifer say about all this, Marty? I don’t think she’d be very happy."
By the expression on Marty’s face, it was clear he didn’t think so, either. "Jen doesn’t need to know about this," he said. "Anyway, we haven’t done anything but dance. It’s not like I’ve kissed her or something."
Doc sighed. "That’s not the point."
"Then what is the point? What’s wrong with what I’m doing?"
Doc took a moment to think about what he was going to say and just how, exactly, he was going to say it. "You’re setting yourself up for a potentially dangerous interaction with history," he said. "What if this Jane Parker falls for you? What if that means she never marries the person she was supposed to, and therefore never has the children she was supposed to? What if you come away from this trip with feelings for her and that destroys your relationship with Jennifer and you end up alone and unhappy the rest of your life?"
"That won’t happen," Marty said, immediately. "Jane isn’t Jennifer, Doc, even if they do look a lot alike. And we’re only going to be here for a few days, right? How can she possibly fall for me in that amount of time?"
Doc smiled, rather amused with the last comment. "Clara and I fell in love at first sight," he said. "It happens."
"Okay, so maybe it does. But I still care for Jen, Doc -- a lot. And in Jane’s eyes I’m just some passing traveler. She’s nice and I like her, but it stops there."
Doc looked Marty right in the eyes. "Are you sure?"
Marty blinked once. "Yes," he said, not hesitating. "Now can I get her the punch before she thinks I forgot about her?"
"All right. But, Marty, please be careful in what you do here -- you never know what little things could change the future."
"I won’t do anything that’ll do that. I promise."
The dancing in the ballroom had continued until around midnight, at which time the band had broken up for the evening and the refreshments on the table had been whisked away by the hotel workers. Marty had stayed the entire time and then some, dancing with Jane when possible. By the time the band had stopped, he had managed to pick up enough of the dance steps so that he actually got pretty good at it, and he found himself reluctantly liking this ancestor of Jennifer’s more with every moment that passed.
"I’ve had such a wonderful time tonight," Jane said to Marty as they left the ballroom together and entered the lobby. "I’m very glad you came to our hotel, Marty."
"I am, too," he said sincerely. "It’s a real nice place. How old is it?"
"My grandfather established it in 1877," Jane said, taking a seat on one of the lobby’s couches. The main room of the hotel was nearly empty, save for a few party stragglers like themselves. "When my father took it over in the 1890’s, after my grandfather passed away, he modernized it a little. The renovations were completed about five years ago, and that’s when the elevators were installed."
"They’re very... interesting," Marty said honestly, recalling with a little amazement the way those human cages creaked and shuddered their way up and down the hotel levels every day and didn’t end up in shattered heaps in the shafts. He sat down across from her in one of the armchairs. "Do you plan to carry on the business?"
Jane looked surprised with the question. "Oh, no. It’s not a woman’s place to do such a thing. My father is planning to have my cousin Andrew take over the hotel someday. Perhaps if my husband desires to be involved, I might be of some help."
"You have a husband?" Marty asked, surprised. He hadn’t noticed a wedding band on her finger, but she was wearing gloves....
Jane shook her head. "No. I’ve a few men who are wishing to court me, but no husband yet." She looked at Marty coyly, a smile twitching the corners of her mouth. "Was that disappointment I heard in your voice when you asked the question?"
"No, I was just surprised if you were married. That your husband would let you dance with hotel guests and all that."
"Ah." Jane seemed a little let down at his answer. She smoothed out her dress and looked at a grandfather clock set up in the room. Nearly one in the morning. Doc had gone to his room a couple hours before, and Marty supposed he should do the same soon, but he still felt pretty awake. Maybe it had something to do with his internal clock thinking it was sometime in the middle of the afternoon.
Jane stood up and looked at Marty. "Would you like to escort me to my room?" she asked boldly.
Marty was rather taken aback by the invitation, but he didn’t hesitate with his answer. "Sure," he said, standing. "Do you live here?"
"Of course. My father and I live on the entire top floor."
"What about your mother?"
A brief shadow flickered across Jane’s face. "My mother died three years ago," she said softly. "Along with my baby brother."
"Oh -- I’m sorry," Marty said quickly, mentally kicking himself for blurting out such an insensitive question. "I didn’t know."
"Of course you didn’t," Jane said, dropping the matter. She headed for the elevators, Marty following at her side.
"We’re staying on the twelfth floor," he said. "If your family has the top floor, wouldn’t that mean you’re on the same floor we are?"
Jane shook her head. "No. There are thirteen floors in the hotel. The top one is private and not for guests, therefore we do not advertize the hotel as having that many floors."
She pressed the button to summon the elevator and it arrived with only a couple minute’s wait. Marty stepped reluctantly into the cage, standing in one of the corners at the back as Jane closed the cage door and latched it for their ascent. There was no one running the elevators, so it was Jane who used the lever to operate the car. Marty was rather relieved she didn’t expect him to deal with it, though he suspected that most men of this time would’ve offered to run it before Jane had even stepped inside the elevator.
"I love these elevators," she remarked as they began to rise, the mechanism groaning faintly as they did so. "It amazes me what Man can do when he puts his mind to it."
"This elevator makes me a little nervous," Marty admitted. "It seems really.... delicate."
"There’s nothing to fear about our elevators," Jane assured him. "We’ve never run into any accidents with them before. One of the lifts was stuck between floors for a couple hours once, but that’s the only problem we’ve had."
"Wonderful," Marty muttered, hoping that the "problem" had been an isolated event.
Jane leaned against the side of the car, beside the operating controls, a rather relaxed smile on her face. "How long will you be staying with us?"
"A few days, I think," Marty said. "Why?"
Jane shrugged her slender shoulders. "I’ve enjoyed your company tonight and I’m glad you won’t be leaving too soon," she said, her eyes staring into Marty’s from across the car. Marty felt strangely flustered from her scrutiny, and the new tone in her voice that he hadn’t heard before.
"Well, I’ve enjoyed your company tonight," he said honestly.
Jane smiled again, her expression appearing more seductive in the dim electric lighting of the elevator car. "Would you consider it too bold of me to invite you in for a drink?" she asked as she halted the car at the top floor. Outside the cage, Marty could see a dimly lit hallway, decorated differently than the other hotel floors, the style more expensive and more like the entryway of a home.
Jane’s inviting me in for a drink? he wondered, a little amazed as she slid open the protective cage and stepped onto her private floor. "Sure," he said, rather belatedly as he left the elevator car. "I mean, no, I don’t think it’s too bold of you and yeah, I’d like to come."
Jane closed the cage behind them and smiled as she stepped towards the door. It was unlocked, rather surprising to Marty. The room was dark and Marty stayed close to the door as Jane turned on some lamps. His eyes widened as the room slowly revealed itself to him. He had thought the hotel was nice, but the decoration in this room made it look shabby in comparison. Polished tiles stretched out across the floor around them. The ceiling was high and arched, with a chandelier only slightly smaller than the one in the ballroom and lobby hanging in the ceiling’s peak. A spacious room with a grand piano and plush Victorian-looking furniture was off to the left, and a balcony straight ahead. Large windows were set in all the outside walls, allowing a breathtaking panoramic view of the city.
"My father will be down in the smoking room with some of the guests for another hour, I imagine," Jane said as she tugged off her gloves, oblivious to Marty’s gawking. "The help lives on the main floor. So we’re alone up here."
"This is a beautiful place you’ve got," Marty managed to say, noticing some of the paintings on the walls. He’d seen some of them before -- in books or printed on posters.
"Thank you," Jane said. "My mother redecorated it just before she died. Is there anything special you’d like to drink?"
"I don’t suppose you have soft drinks, do you?" he asked.
Jane looked puzzled at the request, answering Marty’s question before she even spoke. "Ah... no, I don’t believe we do."
Marty sighed, though he wasn’t surprised. "I’ll just have whatever you’re having, then."
"All right. Make yourself at home in the other room while I fetch the drinks."
Jane headed to the right, presumably to the kitchen, while Marty started in the direction of the room with the grand piano. He couldn’t help giving a low whistle at the rest of the contents of the room; he hadn’t seen stuff like this outside of the silver screen. Oriental rugs covered great stretches of the floor. Most of the furniture was crafted from dark wood with elaborate carvings -- everything from swirls to flowers to human faces -- in it. The fabric looked like it might’ve been hand embroidered and made from silk, seldom sat on and never bounced on. Marty didn’t feel comfortable using it, either. He walked over to the windows and looked outside, noting with a touch of awe how clear the night sky above was. Unbelievable when one considered they were in the middle of a city.
After enjoying the view for a couple minutes, Marty wandered over to the grand piano and took a seat at the bench. He pressed a few of the keys and was rather surprised to find the instrument in tune. Without much thought, he started to play a song, "Lights," a song about San Francisco by a future rock group -- Journey -- that originated in the same city back in the 1970’s. While the guitar was definitely his instrument of choice and talent, he’d learned the piano first, back when he was ten and his mother had gone through a phase where she’d believed that her children needed to learn the skills to be well-rounded people. Marty had been less interested in the piano at the time than he was in learning how to read and write music; to him, it was like some secret code and, for a short time, he and his friends had passed messages to each other that way. Three of those guys were now in the band with him.
Still, though he hadn’t had piano lessons in better than five years and had since played sporadically at best, it was a skill he hadn’t entirely lost. After a slightly rocky start, the song fell into place rather smoothly. Marty didn’t sing the lyrics, using most of his concentration on recalling how to play the song that he’d taught himself when he was eleven. So great was his concentration that it didn’t take him long to forget where and when he was -- a common side-effect for him when he got into his music. It wasn’t until he finished and heard the soft clapping from behind that he remembered. Marty spun around on the bench, startled, seeing Jane standing at the far end of the room.
"That was wonderful," she said warmly. "Did you compose that yourself?"
"Ah... no, not me," he said honestly.
Jane picked up the wine bottle and two crystal wine glasses she had presumably set on a chair nearby to listen to Marty’s improvised performance. "Are you a musician?" she asked, coming over to sit beside him on the piano bench.
"Sort of... I mean, I guess so," Marty said. "Not with a piano, though; I’m into the guitar."
"Oh," Jane said, a slight frown darting across her face. Marty didn’t even bother to explain any more about his music; he doubted Jane could even imagine an electric guitar and what it would sound like, let alone rock music. He changed the subject as he had done all evening when he found himself on the answering end of questions.
"What did you bring out?"
Jane set the glasses on a table beside the piano bench as she pulled out the cork in the bottle. "Some of the hotel’s finest wine," she said, leaning over to pour some in each glass. She recorked the bottle, set it down with the glasses, then passed one to Marty. He accepted it politely and took a sip to please her, but he didn’t intend to have any more than this glass, and not more than a sip or two if he could help it. Wine wasn’t really to his tastes.
"It’s good," he lied, setting the glass on the flat surface of the piano, next to the music stand. Jane smiled, pleased, and took a drink from her own glass.
"It’s a pretty night tonight, isn’t it?" she asked softly, staring out through the windows.
"Yeah, gorgeous. I’m surprised you aren’t sick of the view yet. You must see it every night."
Jane shrugged, reaching up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingers lingered near her ear, playing with her earring that was probably worth more than Marty’s truck back home. "I may be from wealthy roots, but it does not mean I’m oblivious to the beautiful things in life," she said. "My mother taught me to never take anything for granted. Even a beautiful view. You never know when it may be gone for good." She sighed, her hand dropping to her lap. "Sometimes I wonder if Mother knew she was not long for this world."
"Were you close to your mother?" Marty asked, hesitating with the question a little.
"She was my only mother," Jane answered, as if that was explanation enough. She slid a little closer to Marty and looked at him, her eyes intense in their sudden scrutiny. "Do you live with your uncle?"
"No -- but I travel with him sometimes." That was definitely the truth, thought Jane couldn’t understand exactly what kind of travel they did, even if Marty wanted to go into it. He plunked a few keys, randomly, allowing the notes to linger in the silence of the room.
"You play beautifully," Jane murmured, having gotten even closer to him without Marty noticing. Her breath tickled his ear. "Can you show me how to play that song that you were doing earlier?"
Marty didn’t like the idea at all. He had a sudden vision of the tune being written by Jane Parker instead of the musicians who did do it and thereby screwing up the future in some way. "How about something else, instead?" he suggested.
Jane rested her head on Marty’s shoulder. "I like that song," she said softly, resting her fingers on Marty’s hand. He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling as if he’d stepped into some Twilight Zone episode. "If you won’t teach it to me, play it for me again."
Not up to denying her second request, Marty started to play the song again. Jane removed her hand from his and slipped it to his arm, her light touch heavy on him as he played. Concluding the song, he allowed the last notes to fade slowly.
And then, without warning, Jane was kissing him, on the mouth.
Marty felt dizzy, confused, as she kissed him. She felt familiar, but there was something there, something alien to him that made him more than a little uneasy. The feeling came as a shock to him, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head.
This isn’t Jennifer! he realized, a funny ache in his heart. The girl may look like her but it’s not the same person!
Marty pulled away quickly, pivoting slightly on the bench to put more distance between him and the young woman. "Jane, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice cracking a little as he tried to keep up with the sudden shift in his feelings.
Jane blinked a couple times, her eyes confused as she looked at Marty. She straightened up, her posture becoming more refined and ladylike. "I... well, I like you, Marty. I thought you liked me as well."
"Yeah, you’re great and all, but... well, I have a girlfriend back at home."
Jane arched an eyebrow. "Do you, now? Does she know of your habit of dancing with young women when traveling?"
"We’re not on the best of terms now," Marty said honestly. "But I care for her a lot; I love her. This is my fault, too," he added, shifting his eyes to the less intimidating sights of the night view out the windows. "You look just like her and I almost felt I was with her, in some ways."
Jane was silent for a moment. "I am sorry, then, for my... boldness with you. I assure you that I am not in the habit of doing this with hotel guests," she added stiffly.
Marty looked at her and smiled. "I didn’t think so," he said. "I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression tonight. I do like you, though. Just not, quite, in that way."
Jane blushed now, edging more towards the edge of the piano bench. "Oh, gracious, I feel terrible for bringing you up here. You really must think I’m a woman of questionable reputation!"
"Jane, it’s all right. You’re not that assertive, at least not compared to girls I know back home," he said, recalling some of his classmates. "I won’t hold this against you and I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re afraid of."
From the expression of relief that slipped on her face, it was clear that had been exactly what she had been concerned with. "You won’t be holding this against me?" she asked, hopeful.
Marty shook his head. "No. And to show I’m serious about that, how would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night? Maybe downstairs or in a restaurant around town?"
Jane considered that for a moment, weighing it in silence, before she nodded. "I would like that."
Marty looked at one of the clocks in the room and stood up at the sight of the time. "Jeez, I’d better get to bed now!" he said, amazed at how late it had gotten. "It’s almost one-thirty!"
Jane stood herself. "I’m sorry for detaining you," she said. "I didn’t realize how late it was."
"That’s all right." Marty looked at her for a moment, then kissed her quickly on the cheek. "Thanks for showing me how to waltz. That was definitely educational."
Jane blushed again. "You’re welcome." She saw him out and Marty sighed as he headed for the stairwell at the end of the hall. He was rather relieved to have that over with, in some ways, and relieved that he hadn’t done anything he would’ve regretted later. Doc would be pleased when he got a report of the evening’s activities.
Marty didn’t go directly to his room. Despite the late hour, he still felt too restless to go to bed. He took the stairs down to the lobby, then left the hotel to take a walk on the streets of a San Francisco that had less than a month before it would be burning rubble.
As Marty was making his way down to the first floor, Doc was busy pacing his room. Like his friend, he, too, felt too wired to rest, but his energy was mostly nervous energy. The hotel was quiet now, with most of the guests tucked into their rooms for the night. Doc knew that Marty wasn’t one of them; he had knocked on the teen’s room only a few minutes before and there had been no answer. The walls of the hotel were extremely thin, allowing Doc to hear every word uttered when someone walked down the hall, even if those words were murmured. He was sure he’d be able to hear Marty when he returned and unlocked his room.
Why Doc felt so uneasy was difficult for him to pinpoint. He wondered if it had something to do with Marty befriending Jane Parker, if befriending was the right word. He didn’t have a good feeling about those two together, even if they did just become casual friends for a few days. Doc knew it was impossible to travel through time without interacting with some people, sometimes for a longer period of time or more heavily than he would like. He could even accept, reluctantly, interacting with the ancestors of his friends and family.
The timing of this particular interaction, however, was what really concerned him. If Marty hadn’t had the argument with Jennifer and was thus in a more delicate state of mind when he met a young woman who bore more than a passing resemblance to his girlfriend, Doc knew he wouldn’t be up now pacing the room and wracking his mind for a category to stick his unease in.
"Where is that kid?" he muttered aloud, pausing for a moment to look out the window. His view was about the same as Marty’s next door and the night didn’t dampen the beauty in the least. It’s a real tragedy that this city will have to be rebuilt from near scratch in less than a month, he thought, his mind shifting from his concerns about Marty to the future historical event.
As Doc stared down at the scattered city lights, something began to nag him at the back of his mind. He almost felt like he had missed seeing something, something big. He scanned the view again, slowly, allowing his eyes to linger where they wished. Doc saw the moonlight glinting off the bay. He saw the other buildings around, some taller than the Parker Palace, most not. He saw the streets, nearly deserted and lit with gas lamps. Doc started to frown, the expression deepening the lines in his face as he struggled to recover something his mind had whispered too softly for him to catch the first time.
I was thinking about Marty and Jane, and then I stopped to look out the window.... I noticed how different the city looked, how peaceful, and was reminded that the earthquake would destroy it soon....
Doc stopped there, feeling that tickle at the back of his mind again. "The quake occurred in April of 1906," he said softly, hoping the sound of his voice might help solidify that tickle into something he could touch. "I know it didn’t happen before now. Today’s date is April 17th -- no, wait, April 18th -- 1906." He paused, feeling closer now. "Why does that sound so familiar to me--"
His voice halted abruptly as the picture finally clicked into place. "April 18, 1906," he whispered. "Great Scott! That’s the day of the earthquake!"
Doc turned away from the window and strode to the other end of the room. He opened his door and stepped into the hall, over to Marty’s door. He knocked loudly, not really caring if his pounding woke any of the guests in the rooms nearby, and even called his name once or twice. There was no answer and Doc wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d hoped that Marty had managed to slip into his room without being heard, but it looked like that hadn’t happened.
"Damn," Doc sighed. He returned to his room and looked at the clock above his bed. A few minutes after two in the morning. The earthquake occurred somewhere in the hour of five in the morning, Doc remembered. That left only about three hours to locate Marty and evacuate the city before there was a chance they’d become trapped in the disaster.
Doc took a deep breath and tried to review his options. There were only three that he could see and all of them had drawbacks.
He could stay where he was and wait for Marty to return -- but if Marty didn’t come back ‘til around dawn, they might not make it out of the city before the earthquake hit.
He could search for Marty around the hotel. Doc didn’t think he’d left the building, but the building was a large one and there were many places where he could be holed up. The last thing the scientist wanted or planned to do was to knock on every door in the place and ask if they’d seen someone fitting Marty’s description and where they might’ve seen him go.
Then there was the final option: He could leave the city and return to the DeLorean, bring the time machine back here and possibly leave it on the roof while checking Marty’s room again. This last option was the one Doc was most partial to, and it was one that also gambled a lot. If he was incorrect in his knowledge about the time of day that the quake hit and it came sooner than 5 A.M., there was a chance the time machine could be damaged or worse if it was on the roof at that time.
But all the choices carry risk, Doc thought, massaging his forehead as he felt the time wasting, each second now valuable and precious. His decision, when it was reached, was not entirely surprising when all options were weighed. There was really only one logical thing to do.
Doc went to the suitcase in his room, still closed and latched, and opened it. He put all the money he had for this time in the pockets of his pants, vest, and coat, distributed in such a way so if one article of clothing was lost, he wouldn’t be flat broke. Next, he took some of the paper that lined the dresser drawers, tore off a chunk, and printed a brief and to the point note with a pencil from a desk in the room:
Marty-
Get out of the hotel immediately and go back to the DeLorean!
--ELB
He slipped the note under the door, not comfortable with leaving it out in the open where anyone passing could read it. Doc took one last long look at the dark room that was his, the last time he would likely see it. Then he closed the door and locked it, heading to the elevators at a rapid walk.
As Doc Brown was taking an elevator down to the Parker Palace hotel lobby, Marty was sitting on the ground by the edge of the water in the San Francisco Bay, skipping stones across the water. From his position, he could see the faint lights across the bay of an island, perhaps Alcatraz. It was quiet where he sat, the only sound that of the water lapping the shore, and he didn’t mind that at all. It was giving him a chance to think, really think, for the first time in days.
He could better see why Jennifer had been so steamed at him, sort of. He supposed if she’d forgotten an important date that he’d been counting on for weeks, he would’ve been rather hurt. And the feelings would’ve been compounded if he had called her house to speak to her, only to hear that she had gone out with friends. The only thing he really couldn’t understand was why Jennifer wasn’t giving him a chance to explain his perspective on the whole thing. It had been a couple days, after all.
Marty sighed deeply as he chucked another stone across the water, skipping it twice before it sank. There was the thing with Jane to contend with now, as well. He had no regrets telling her what he had -- it was the truth -- but he wondered how Jennifer would take it if he told her about it. Marty had no plans to, of course, but he didn’t like the idea of keeping secrets from her, either. They had a built a very strong bridge of trust between them and he wasn’t stupid; he knew how far this incident could set it back if he kept it from her and she later discovered it.
"It’s not like I did anything wrong, though," he muttered, tossing another rock. He hadn’t been the one to kiss her, that was certain, and he had, in fact, pulled away when she had done that to him. But Jennifer might not like the idea that he had asked Jane to dance and he had invited her for a purely platonic dinner right after she’d made a pass at him. The invitation had been out of guilt and loneliness, Marty supposed, and rather spontaneous on his part. Though he knew for a fact now he had no feelings for Jane beyond friendship, being around her was rather comforting. He didn’t doubt it was because she bore a great resemblance to his girlfriend.
Setting aside that problem for a minute, Marty tried to figure out a way to apologize to Jennifer and earn her forgiveness. He wasn’t sure if he should allow her to contact him first or keep calling persistently as he had been doing since she’d hung up on him. Maybe Doc was right; perhaps sending flowers with a card would be a good idea, if he could scrounge up enough money to get some. It baffled him why something that would die in a few days cost so much.
Marty stood up as the last of his rocks were exhausted and pulled out the pocket watch Doc had given him with the rest of his period outfit. It was after two-thirty in the morning. He figured he should probably get back to the hotel pretty soon, since Doc might be waiting up and he was finally starting to feel tired. He was willing to bet there’d some lecture or discussion waiting for him when he returned to his room.
As Marty headed back to the Parker Palace, he couldn’t help but feel amazed at the quiet and the emptiness of the streets. Occasionally, someone came by on a wagon or horse and once the trolley clattered by, but aside from that, he felt like practically the only one awake and out. A huge difference from the big cities of his time, which usually had pretty flourishing night lives. Even the Hill Valley of his time had more activities on the streets than there was here. The lack of bright lights, too, was rather amazing to him. He’d been in cities back in times before electricity, certainly, but never to such a large city that was in the Twentieth Century and had electricity. There were street lights, which he supposed was a pretty big deal even now, but no halogen or flourescent lights; neon, as well, was utterly absent. The only lights he saw were the ones on or in buildings.
The Parker Palace’s own lights were turned down low, located mostly in the lobby. A glance upward, and he saw very few rooms that were lit from within. Probably normal, considering the lateness of the hour, especially when there were so few things one could do at this hour of the night. It wasn’t as if one could turn on the TV and catch some late night movies, after all.
Marty slipped inside the hotel and walked through the deserted lobby to the elevators. He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic to use the things, but he wanted to climb twelve flights of stairs even less. Recalling what he’d seen Jane do earlier, he unlatched the cage door, slid it open, and stepped onto the waiting elevator car. Once the door was closed again, Marty looked at the mechanics that was usually run by an elevator operator. There was a lever that could be moved up or down and a couple buttons. Remembering Jane’s operation of it earlier, Marty cautiously shifted the lever up and felt the elevator begin to rise. It went slowly, but he didn’t dare touch it to push it faster. The last thing he wanted to do was overload it or something.
He reached his floor in a few minutes and stopped the elevator car without a problem. Exiting it, Marty walked to his room down the hall and unlocked it, stepping inside. He shut the door without bothering to turn on any of the lights, finding enough illumination to see his way around the room provided by the unshaded window and the moonlight shining through that. He was rather surprised when a couple minutes had passed and Doc wasn’t knocking on his door.
Maybe he trusts me, Marty thought as he walked to the window, undoing his tie as he went. Or else maybe he fell asleep waiting up.
He supposed it didn’t matter. Sooner or later, Doc was going to give him a little talk and if he could postpone it to be later, that was fine with him.
Marty managed to get the tie off, then went to work on the collar, which was separate from the shirt. Doc had thoughtfully included some written instructions on how to get the thing on when he had been changing, but taking it off seemed more challenging, perhaps because he was doing it in semi-darkness and while tired. He finally snapped the sucker off, set it on the table next to the bed with the bow tie, and decided that undressing now was becoming too much of a pain. He slipped off his coat, draped it over the footboard of the bed, and lay down on top of the covers.
Sleep, however, did not come immediately. Thoughts about Jane and Jennifer chased around in his head and it wasn’t until sometime after 4 A.M., according to the chiming on the clock, when he finally dozed off.
Doc had made a rather speedy trip to the DeLorean’s hiding place by borrowing a horse tethered to a post outside a pub a few blocks from the hotel. With the horse, he was able to reach the time machine only fifteen minutes after departing the hotel. The scientist allowed his ride to graze in the grass outside the barn while he ran inside and yanked the cover off the car. The time machine appeared untouched and Doc wasted no time in unlocking the vehicle, stuffing the car cover in the passenger seat, turning on the time circuits, and slipping the key into the ignition. He shut the door and turned the key, expecting the engine to roar to life.
It didn’t start.
Doc turned the key again, listening to the starter motor crank but not turn over the engine. When he tried it the third time and there was still no roar from the car’s engine, he knew something was wrong. He scanned the dashboard first, searching for any lights that might alert him to a specific problem. They were all lit, normal when the car had not yet started. He sighed, then leaned over to pull the switch that popped the hatch on the back, where the mechanics of the car were stored in a DeLorean.
Using a flashlight from the glove box, Doc spent nearly an hour of valuable time going over the engine of the car, checking connections, searching for any fluid leaks, examining spark plugs. Everything appeared to be in working order in his casual examination, yet the car refused to start. It tried, so much and so hard that the battery was nearly drained by the time Doc forced himself to stop -- but the engine, from what he could tell, simply was not getting any gas. It seemed absurd, especially since he had a full tank. But somewhere on the DeLorean, likely in a hard to reach place that couldn’t be taken care of before the quake hit, and not in the dark with only a weakening flashlight for illumination, something had definitely decided to go awry.
Doc slammed shut the back of the DeLorean, frustrated at the problem. He had some spare parts, critical ones for both time travel and car operation, stored in the trunk of the car, but that wasn’t the point. Somehow, they would be able to leave this place, even if they did have to drop the DeLorean off something to get it up to eighty-eight miles an hour.
But there was absolutely no way they would be able to leave before the arrival of dawn, and the earthquake.
Doc checked the time on the present day display in the DeLorean, not pleased to see that it was already after 4 A.M. "Damn," he whispered, sitting down in the driver’s seat as he tried to figure out what to do next. He could return to the Parker Palace hotel, but that would be rather pointless and possibly dangerous on two levels; he had left Marty a note to meet him here and he might not be able to make it out of the city before the quake started. If he wasn’t here when Marty arrived, then the teen might go back into the city and they might not be able to rendevouz for hours, possibly days, in the chaos that would follow. And that counted on neither of them being injured -- or worse -- in the disaster.
Doc drummed his fingers on the dashboard as he thought, staring at the time display, very aware of the minutes ticking by. He wished that Marty was at least with him right now. Living through the quake wouldn’t be a particularly bad hardship to deal with if they were both where Doc was right now -- outside of the town limits and in a place where there was nothing really, save for the barn, there to fall on you. The city, with its tall stone buildings, glass, and heavy furniture, was nothing short of a potential death trap.
"I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t," Doc muttered to himself, perturbed by the downsides to all his options. He got out of the DeLorean and left the barn, hoping a little fresh air might give him an answer that would be more satisfactory than those he had come up with so far. He spent some time pacing, looking at the city lights, and trying to relax enough so his brain would stop interrupting his attempts to think with reminders on the approaching quake.
As he paced, he hoped fervently that the decision of whether or not to return to the city would be taken out of his hands by Marty arriving. As it grew closer to five, Doc lost more and more hope in that option. He should have arrived before now, the inventor felt. Either he hadn’t returned to his room yet, or he had somehow missed seeing the note entirely. Doc didn’t care for either possibility.
His decision, in the end, was made for him by his procrastination. When he checked the time again and saw that it was 5 A.M., Doc knew that he was going to have to stay where he was, for better or worse. The quake could strike at any time in the next hour and he would be safest where he was.
But Marty.... Doc sighed, his eyes on the sleeping city below. He could only hope Marty would be as fortunate as he was up here. And if not... well, there was always time travel, once the car was fixed.
The elevator car was hot and stuffy, feeling like the tropics in the middle of the summer. The temperature made it difficult to breathe and made the overstarched period clothing feel like wearing wool blankets. Jane Parker stood before him, her arms encircling his neck and drawing his face close to hers.
"You care for me," she whispered, staring so intently into his eyes that she almost seemed to be seeing his very soul. "I can tell."
Before Marty could answer such a bold statement, Jane was kissing him. He fought her at first, then gave in to the inevitable as she pushed him back against one of the elevator walls. Just as he relaxed, Jane suddenly pulled back. She looked at him, as if hurt.
"What’s wrong?" Marty asked.
Jane scowled, then reached up and yanked off her hair! She’d been wearing a wig! The hair under it came down, only to her shoulders and startlingly familiar, hair Marty knew very well.
"I’m not Jane, Marty," the young woman hissed. "I’m your girlfriend, Jennifer! How could you cheat on me? You jerk!"
"Jennifer!" he gasped. "I wasn’t cheating on you; you were the one who kissed me just now! I love you!"
Jennifer snorted, slipping next to him. "Sure," she said. "Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson!" With that, she reached for the elevator controls and grabbed the lever that activated the ascent or descent. Before Marty could utter one word in protest, she yanked the control down and the elevator started a fast, sickening plunge. The lights winked out, leaving him in total darkness. Something nearby rattled loudly as the car plunged. Marty started to scream--
--and his eyes flew open. The absolute darkness vanished, but the nightmare seemed to be continuing. Everything was shaking, rattling around him. Marty blinked, hard, and shook his head a little as he lifted it off the pillow. Something crashed to the floor in his room, shattering noisily, and he suddenly knew for certain that this was no dream.
"What the hell...?" he murmured, his mind still rather dazed from the abrupt transition from the dream. He rolled over and looked at the clock hanging above his bed. It swung violently back and forth, but he was able to make out the time -- between 5:10 and 5:15 in the morning. He hadn’t been asleep too long, certainly not long enough for them to be bulldozing this place -- so what the hell was going on?
The shaking grew harder, nearly throwing him right off the bed. Only then did all the details of his whereabouts really come back to him.
This is April of 1906, when that quake was supposed to hit.... Oh my God, I can’t believe it -- that’s what’s happening right now!
"Oh my God!" Marty gasped aloud, sitting up at the realization. He heard the sound of shattering glass, catching a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He twisted to the left and threw himself face down on the bouncing bed, just missing an opportunity for the window glass to hit him. He dug his hands into the blankets to keep himself firmly rooted right where he was, too scared to move again, as his breath came in short gasps. A part of his mind was telling him to get in the doorway, one of the first rules a Californian learned with quakes, but his petrified body wouldn’t obey.
Time seemed distorted as the violent tremors went on and on -- much longer than Marty could ever recall a quake lasting before. He was shocked that the entire hotel wasn’t falling in on itself, plunging like that elevator from his nightmare -- which suddenly seemed much preferred compared to the world he had wakened in.
Just as a too-detailed picture of the building collapsing crossed his mind, the entire room gave a great shudder, as if it was trying to go in two different directions at once. Marty was nearly thrown off the bed, the top of his head slamming into the heavy wooden headboard. The blow hurt like hell, but he was grateful it didn’t hit him hard enough to knock him out. A piercing crack split the air, sounding to Marty like a forest full of trees suddenly deciding to fall to the ground all in unison. The room suddenly began to drop and he screamed with a lot more energy than he would’ve believed he had, his cry muffled in the pillow. The fall stopped after a few seconds, however, and he heard a whooshing sound. The canopy above his bed suddenly sagged down, as if a bunch of the ceiling had fallen on top of it.
The bed started to shift, the heavy wooden posts that supported it groaning as it scraped against the floor -- then it suddenly stopped. The shaking in the room slowed, then trailed off altogether. Marty stayed where he was for a long moment, foolishly fearing that the second he moved things would start up again. But, for the moment, things were still. A silence held only briefly before it was broken by the screams and cries of those injured, scared, or trapped by the earthquake.
Marty raised his head slowly, coughing a little from the plaster dust choking the air around him. He squinted, trying to see what had happened to the room around him during those shaking moments. Seeing anything was hard, between the dust and the darkness. Marty crawled across the bed and peered over the edge, checking to see if there was still a floor under him. There was, but it was badly titled and many of the boards had cracked and splintered. He swallowed hard, the back of his throat aching dully from the dust and the scream he had let out earlier.
Okay, McFly, stay calm, he told himself, realizing he was now the one shaking hard. You’re alive, you’re okay... now you just have to figure out how to get out of here and to the ground.
"Oh, God," he whispered. "I’m on the twelfth floor! How the hell am I supposed to get down?"
* * *
Doc felt the big earthquake hit while on the hill at 5:13 A.M., according to his watch. It was one of the more unusual experiences in his life, one he didn’t think he would ever go through again -- or really want to relive again. Right before he felt shaking, he’d heard a very odd roar from a distance, similar but not exactly like thunder. The horse he’d borrowed for the trip to the DeLorean had become extremely agitated then, and the scientist was not very surprised when seconds later, the ground started to tremble beneath him.
The shaking was violent, the worst he’d ever felt in a lifetime of earthquakes that occasionally shook his home town. He dropped to his hands and knees before the quake could knock him over and watched with wide eyes as the surrounding land literally rolled around him in waves. Below, the city lights dimmed, flickered, but didn’t altogether extinguish. He heard the faint, far off roar as buildings in the city began to collapse and twist in the shaking. Most eerie of all, Doc noted, was that he could actually hear the destruction of the city; the quake, save for that first, faint roar, moved silently.
"Great Scott," he whispered, watching in stunned amazement as the ground near him split apart, then knit back together a moment later right before his eyes.
The shaking seemed to go on and on. Doc looked at his pocket watch, still in hand, and noted that better than forty seconds had passed before he had first heard a warning of the shaking to come. No wonder this caused so much destruction! he thought, trying to recall the estimates on the strength of the quake. He believed it was thought to have been an 8.3 on the Richter scale, though even that figure was in debate.
The earth continued to roll for another twenty seconds, the longest twenty seconds Doc could ever recall. When it stopped, it did so rather abruptly, the shaking going from violent to gentle in about five seconds -- and then stopping altogether. Doc didn’t stand right away, trying to reign in his racing heart and steady his breathing. Once his nerves were calmed, he looked over at the barn and was both amazed and grateful to see it was still standing.
The wood buildings handled it better than the steel and brick, he recalled. The largest problem with earthquake damage happens to buildings that resist the movement instead of flowing with it -- and I think this structure was perfect to roll with the earth!
Doc got to his feet and looked at the city. To his great surprise, many of the buildings that were standing prior to the quake were still standing. Almost all he could see appeared to have sustained some sort of damage, however. His eyes sought out the location of the Parker Palace and he saw with intense relief that it was still erect, though the building now listed a little to one side and had definitely sustained some damage. Between the distance and the early dawn light, Doc wasn’t able to tell any more.
"Marty is still down there," he said softly, certain of that fact. The odds were certainly against him being on his way up when the quake hit. Doc turned and ran to the barn, entering a little cautiously on the chance something had fallen down inside, or a portion of the building was ready to collapse in the next strong gust of wind. From what he could tell, things looked about the same as when he had exited the barn prior to the earthquake, save for a few old pieces of farm equipment that had been knocked to the ground from where they had originally hung on the walls.
"Good," Doc muttered to himself. "This place should be excellent shelter until we leave."
After removing the car cover from the vehicle and locking it up, Doc concealed it again and left the building. He couldn’t find the horse that he had brought up with him and thought it likely that the animal was long gone, having bolted in terror at the quaking earth. It was probably for the best. It would be easier to travel back to the city, and through it, on foot.
And so Doc started the walk down to the crumbling remains of San Francisco.
* * *
Marty realized he was starting to panic, and that was the last thing he needed. He shook as he sat on his bed, terrified of moving and terrified even more of staying put. He could feel the building under him creaking a little and knew it was probably a matter of time before the thing collapsed. That realization didn’t make him more inclined to move; it just increased his paralysis and trembling.
"Okay, McFly, get a grip," he whispered aloud, hoping the sound of his own voice would settle his nerves a little. "You’re alive and you’re not hurt. Don’t panic ‘til you’re on solid ground or you’re gonna have a real mess on your hands."
He took a deep breath, then another, and felt the cloud of panic in his mind thin out a little. Determined to keep his mind occupied so it wouldn’t drift into a deadly loop of reminding him how dangerous his situation was, Marty broke down his ultimate goal -- that of getting out of the hotel in one piece -- into a series of smaller steps.
Okay, he thought. The elevator is definitely out. That leaves the stairs, if they’re not all busted up.
But before he could even dream of checking the stairs out, Marty had to make sure the floor in his room wasn’t going to break under his weight. He took another deep breath, gagging slightly on the plaster dust still in the air, and shifted his weight and feet from the bed to the floor.
The floor creaked a little, but held. Marty exhaled deeply, though it did take him another minute to let go of the safety of the bed. He stepped gingerly across the floor, to the window first. Broken glass crunched under his shoes and he was very very glad, suddenly, for his habit of falling asleep fully dressed. He leaned forward a little, bracing his weight against the wall (avoiding the glass-covered windowseat), and looked out.
"Oh my God," he murmured.
In the pastel-colored morning light that was beginning to brighten the still-dark sky, Marty saw chaos and destruction. The scene, which had been breathtaking just several hours ago, was still breathtaking, but for darker reasons. The cobblestone streets were thrust up at strange, drunken angles, almost looking like little islands. All the buildings he could see were missing something, be it statues that had once been mounted near the tops of the buildings, windowpanes, or entire walls.
Marty turned away from the window, the view making him feel rather sick. He stepped cautiously over to the door and tried the knob. It turned freely in his hand, but the door didn’t open. Marty eyed the jamb for a minute, trying to see if somehow something had wedged it shut when the quake had tossed around the building. Something caught his eye on the floor, right next to his left foot. Marty crouched down and picked it up, realizing it was a torn piece of paper. He didn’t see the words scrawled in pencil until a moment later.
"‘Marty, get out of the hotel immediately and go back to the DeLorean,’" he read aloud, immediately noticing Doc’s scrawled initials at the bottom of the message. He frowned. "Did he know about the quake before it hit? Is that where he is now?"
He was given no answer, of course. Marty wondered how long that note had been there. Had it, in fact, been there when he returned to his room? He tried to remember if he had happened to look down when he had stepped inside and really couldn’t. If Doc was, in fact, waiting for him with the time machine, he was probably having a fit right about now. Marty welcomed the idea readily, with a slight smile on his face. If his friend was up there, he was probably safe and that was one less thing he had to worry about. He would welcome any lecture with open arms.
Marty quickly folded the paper into a small square, then slipped it into the pocket of his vest, still on although unbuttoned now. He tried the door again, found it was still jammed shut, and risked throwing his shoulder against it, even though these doors opened into the room, not out. It didn’t pop loose. He hissed a sigh of frustration through his teeth, then returned to the only other opening in the room -- the window. One look outside, and at the drop to the ground below, and he could feel his stomach turn.
"I must be insane for even thinking this," he muttered. But his eyes were still drawn to the fire escape just inches away from the windowsill. He stuck his head out of the window and checked to make sure the emergency exit was still attached to the building. From what he could see of it, it was. Marty leaned back inside and asked himself long and hard if he wanted to take the risk he was considering. It seemed to be the only way out, as far as he could tell. He wasn’t really feeling up to busting the door down and, for all he knew, the hallway had caved in.
Marty stepped over to the bed to pick up his pillow, then returned to the window and used the soft cushion to safely knock away the sharp glass shards that were still clinging to the window frame. Once those were taken care of, he carefully climbed into the window, used the pillow to sit on the sill, and tentatively eased one foot onto the metal fire escape.
It seemed to hold.
Encouraged, Marty slammed his foot down on the metal a couple times, testing the durability of the escape. It rattled but appeared solid enough. So far, so good. Carefully avoiding the small slivers of glass that were still wedged in the frame of the window, Marty swung his other foot down on the fire escape and gradually increased the pressure until his full weight was on the platform.
It still held.
Marty started to breathe a little again, cautiously. He took a small step, still holding onto his window, and the escape didn’t tear itself off the wall or start to shift unnaturally. Finally, with the ultimate leap of faith, Marty let go of the building and took a few steps towards the stairs.
The escape remained solid under him.
"Thank God," he breathed. He grabbed hold of the railing provided and started down the stairs, carefully. Halfway down the first flight, he happened to look down -- and an overwhelming feeling of dizziness suddenly hit him, entirely unexpected. Marty leaned against the side of the building and shut his eyes, willing the vertigo to leave. It confused him a little; he’d never had problem with heights before.
But I’ve never gone down a fire escape that could buckle and send me off into oblivion at any time, either.
When he felt a little steadier, Marty opened his eyes again and continued his trip down, using all his concentration to keep his eyes away from the ground. He focused on the sounds around him, rather than the sights, but the occasional screams and pleas for help weren’t making him feel much better. So he started to hum to himself, any tune that came to mind.
He had no idea how long it took to get down from his room. It seemed an eternity at the time, but when he looked back on it later, it was literally a blur that he could only vaguely recall. With each step he made, Marty prayed that any aftershocks would hold off until he made it back to the ground. Although he knew the fire escape had survived the huge tremor, he knew also that a smaller one might shift something in the building and topple a wall -- perhaps the one the escape was bolted onto.
The steps finally ended and it took Marty a good minute to realize why, in his still-dazed state; the street was just a drop of about five or eight feet below. He knelt down, grabbed one of the bottom railing bars, and swung himself down. The metal groaned at this final test of its strength and Marty felt the bar start to pull away from the wall. He opened his mouth to scream, just as his hands let go. A second later his feet hit the ground. The scream cut off before it began, turning into a gasp instead. He looked up at the bar and was nearly beaned by it as it clattered to the ground.
"Jesus Christ!" he whispered when he’d managed to breathe again. At least that had happened now and not some ten flights up or he’d still be up there, frozen and afraid to move. It occurred to him, only now, of course, that he could’ve easily gone a much safer way by just crawling in through another window on a different floor. He almost groaned with the realization.
Well, I got down in one piece. I guess that’s what counts.
After catching his breath and steadying himself, Marty walked out of the alleyway and around to the front of the hotel and the main street. The street was cracked, some of it thrust up a few feet from where it started. Parts of the surrounding buildings littered the streets, which were filled with people, many people, in just about every state of dress and undress. He saw a man in a full suit like the one he’d worn the night before, even a top hat and cane, next to a woman in a nightgown.
Though a great deal of the people were milling around, perhaps trying to figure out what to do next or exchanging tales of their own quake experiences, a lot were walking in the direction of the countryside, arms filled with belongings. Some of the stuff people were taking was pretty bizarre to Marty -- one woman had a parrot in a cage, another an iron and ironing board -- but some was rather poignant; one couple walked through the streets with a box full of photographs and tintypes. Most seemed to have clothes or children in their arms, some even dragging wagons or wheelbarrows filled with their loot.
"Where is everyone going?" he wondered, speaking the question aloud. He wasn’t expecting an answer but, surprisingly, he was given one.
"There are fires burning south of Market Street," a man told him as he went by. "They’re likely to spread."
Marty had no idea where Market Street was, let alone how close it was to the Parker Palace. He turned around to look at the hotel, not very concerned with the fire news. As soon as he met Doc at the DeLorean, then could say so long to this place -- and Marty didn’t think he would be so happy to leave a time since that trip to the alternate ‘85, when Biff Tannen was practically the ruler of the world.
The hotel, he saw with a little surprise, had fared pretty well in the earthquake. While almost all the windows he saw were shattered and there were piles of brick and plaster littering the sidewalk and street below, the building wasn’t in any immediate danger of falling over -- at least for now. The entire hotel looked a little off, like a stack of blocks that had been well shaken, and the top listing to the left. As far as he could tell, though, it didn’t look as if any of the floors had collapsed on another.
But I don’t know if staring at the exterior would really tell me that....
As he eyed the building, Marty heard someone call his name. Not Doc, but a feminine voice. He looked around and spotted Jane Parker waving to him from before the hotel.
"Marty!" she cried, not moving from her spot. "Are you hurt?"
Marty headed towards the young woman, who was dressed in nothing more than a nightgown and shawl, her hair in a long braid down her back. She was sitting on a bench before the hotel. "I’m fine," he said when he reached her side. "Just a little shaken up -- pardon the pun. Are you okay?"
Jane shrugged and tilted her head to one side. She appeared rather dusty but he could see no cuts or scratches on her. Amazing. "It’s very foolish," she said, waving a hand towards her feet. "I was not hurt in the quake and I took the stairs down to leave the hotel -- but I stumbled in the lobby over the remains of a broken pot and twisted my ankle."
Only then did Marty notice her left foot, propped up on a pile of bricks. Even in the early sunlight, he could see the ankle bruising and swelling. He knelt down for a closer look, though he didn’t dare touch it. "That looks bad," he admitted. "You might want to see a doctor or something."
Jane waved away his concern. "There are people far more hurt than I am right now," she said. "A twisted ankle won’t kill me."
Marty saw her point. "What’s your story?" he asked, lingering a little before his hike to the time machine. "This isn’t normal for this area, is it?"
Jennifer’s ancestor shook her head, hard. "Absolutely not," she said. "This is, by far, the strongest tremor that I have ever felt. I woke to the shaking and made for my doorway. The furniture was actually moving around, very heavy stuff that would take four men to move! The windows all shattered, every one of them! Some of the ceiling came down and the floor dropped a few inches, but my father and I were fortunate. We were able to leave by the stairs and I believe most of the other guests did as well." Jane’s face darkened a little. "But I know some are still in the building, trapped."
"That would’ve been me, if I hadn’t gone out the window," Marty said, and quickly explained his experience with the earthquake. Jane’s face paled as he told of coming down twelve flights on the fire escape.
"You’re lucky you weren’t killed!" she exclaimed softly. "I don’t even recall the last time that emergency escape was examined."
Marty didn’t want to think about it. "I got out alive," he summed up. "Now I just have to--"
What he was about to say slammed to a halt as the ground trembled under his shoes. He looked up and saw that the sensation was not his imagination; the hotel was shaking as well, a few bricks coming down and slamming on the sidewalk near him. Marty jumped back, startled, and grabbed Jane’s hand.
"Come on!" he said, pulling her off the bench and with him as he ran for the somewhat safer center of the street. But he had all but forgotten about her injured ankle. Jane let out a faint cry, falling to the ground, her hand slipping from Marty’s. He spun around for a second, saw she was okay, then jogged back a few more steps although a part of the teen chided himself for not helping Jane back up immediately.
I hope that I’m not this skittish with quakes in the future, he thought, feeling his heart knock against his ribs.
The aftershock tapered off after a dozen or so seconds and Marty took a deep breath in relief. He heard a rumble, then, a rather odd and out of place sound for him to hear considering the quake had finished. Marty looked around, trying to find the source of the noise -- and saw dust suddenly blow out from the front of the Parker Palace.
"What..." he managed to get out, then the roar grew louder and he realized the entire front wall of the building was tearing away from the rest of the structure. Brick, metal, glass, mortar, plaster, wood -- all of it collected in a deadly waterfall heading right for the ground below. Without thought, Marty jumped back several large steps, ‘til he was on the other side of the street. Incredibly, the junk was still coming down, hadn’t hit the ground yet. He looked down, where the stuff was going to hit, and his eyes suddenly locked on Jane, who was sprawled on the sidewalk underneath the increasing pile.
"Jane!" he shouted, as if his cry would slow down time enough for her to get to her feet and limp away from her current place. Marty couldn’t even hear his voice over the roar of the junk falling. He took a wobbly step forward, just as the material that had once made up the wall of the Parker Palace hotel hit the ground... and buried Jane.
Getting back to the Parker Palace hotel took much longer than Doc had anticipated. The walk, which should’ve taken only about half an hour, took twice that and then some. A great deal of that time was spent climbing over debris and avoiding the fires that had started on that end of the city. (The wind, however, was blowing the direction opposite from which Doc was coming, towards the city; bad news for the residents but good for the time machine.)
The crowds that had formed outside all the buildings also made it slow going. The city dwellers stood outside of their homes and businesses, wearing similar dazed expressions on their faces as they wandered up and down the street -- waiting, almost, for someone to come along and tell them what to do next. Already, people were fleeing their homes with belongings in their arms. The percentage was small, granted, but would increase over the next few hours as more of the city caught fire.
The destruction, Doc noticed on his hike, was pretty bad, but not as bad as he would’ve believed. Most of the damage he’d seen in photographs in the future had likely taken place a little later, after subsequent aftershocks and the fires that would burn for four days. Buildings were falling apart, yes, but it depended entirely on the building whether or not the damage he saw was merely cosmetic or structural. Some leaned to one side or had roofs that had caved in; others looked about the same as they had prior to the quake. It appeared that location and materials had been important factors, with the wooden buildings holding up better than their cement and steel counterparts.
The Parker Palace was constructed mostly out of the materials that didn’t go with the flow very well -- stone and steel. Doc knew that the building had stood up to the quake, but a view from a couple miles away wasn’t exactly the best indicator of how badly damaged the hotel was. There was a tremendous crowd gathered before and around the hotel, perhaps due to all of the guests being forced out of their rooms. Doc looked around, but he saw no sign of Marty; there were simply too many people around and too much chaos going on for him to spot the teen, if he was indeed safely out of the building.
After looking for five minutes, Doc realized he was going to have to change his method of approach or he might be there all day. He found a fairly sturdy looking bench on the other side of the street from the hotel and hopped up on it, hoping the extra three feet of height would allow him to see what he might’ve missed before. After a couple scans around the front of the hotel, he zeroed in on his target.
Marty was standing across the street beside a bench almost exactly parallel to him, speaking with someone that Doc couldn’t get a good look at. He squinted, shifting his position a little, and someone on the street before the pair finally moved their head enough so he could see. A sigh escaped him when he saw it was Jane Parker.
He was rather encouraged, however, when he noticed the young woman was dressed in nightclothes and Marty -- minus a couple details -- was still fully dressed. It seemed to indicate to him that they hadn’t been together all night, as no woman of this time would socialize with a man to whom she wasn’t married in such attire. He was also relieved to see that Marty, aside from a fine coating of dust all over and a still-pale complexion on his face, appeared to be all right.
"Thank God," he breathed. Doc stepped to the ground and was about to cross the street to reach his friend when the ground started to tremble again. An aftershock, he realized immediately, and made for the center of the street rather calmly to avoid any jostled debris from the buildings. Marty had the same instinct, apparently; Doc caught a glimpse of him through the crowds grabbing Jane’s hand and pulling her towards the center of the street, about ten feet away from where Doc stood. But when Marty reached the middle of the street, Jane wasn’t with him. Doc, figuring she must’ve tripped over something, was startled away from his search for her by a sudden and increasing roar from nearby. He craned his neck and darted his eyes around, searching for the source, and saw the entire front wall of the Parker Palace hotel pulling away and hurtling towards the ground.
Doc quickly jumped back a few steps, closer to the opposite side of the street, and shielded his eyes as the debris buried the sidewalk and part of the street directly before the hotel. The impact stirred up a mess of dust in the already hazy air. There were startled gasps and cries from the people around, but Doc was hardly aware of them as he steadied his breathing from what could’ve been a close call and started moving through the people to where he had last spotted Marty.
His friend was where he had spotted him last, standing nearly in the middle of the street and staring at the hotel with wide eyes and an even paler face than Doc had seen on him prior to the aftershock. "Marty!" he said, wondering if his expression on his face could’ve been related to concern that the scientist was still in the building. Doc gently took his shoulder and turned the teen around to look at him. "Thank God you’re okay! Where the hell have you been all night?"
Marty stared at him as if Doc’s words were uttered in a foreign language. He gasped out only one word. "Jane!"
"Jane? What about her?" Doc asked. Without waiting for an answer, he tugged on Marty’s arm, trying to move him away from the hotel. "Come on, we’ve got to get back to the DeLorean."
"Do--Doc! She was just killed!"
That caught his attention. "What?"
Marty pointed a trembling finger at the rubble. "Jane is under that!" he said in a funny voice. "I had her in my hand, I was just talking with her, joking with her and then...." He left the sentence unfinished. "Doc, I don’t... I don’t feel so hot."
The words had hardly been uttered before Marty began to wobble visibly on his feet. Doc slipped an arm around his back, not happy with the way his friend felt, as if he would pass out any second. "Keep breathing, Marty," he said as he practically dragged the teen over to the bench he’d been standing on, just moments earlier. Marty collapsed back on the seat and put his head down between his legs. Doc heard him gasping for air, as if he had just been pulled out of a pool, nearly drowned.
"Try to slow down your breathing," the scientist suggested softly.
It took a couple minutes, but gradually Marty did seem to regain control of himself. Finally, he lifted up his head and Doc was relieved to see his face wasn’t nearly as pale as it had been earlier.
"Better?" he asked.
Marty gave a nearly imperceptible nod, his eyes locked down on the ground.
"Are you okay? You weren’t hurt in the quake or anything, were you?"
"No," Marty said, his voice not much more than a whisper. "But Jane was, Doc." He swallowed hard and let out a deep, shuddery breath. "It’s my fault."
"How can you say that?" Doc asked, grateful that the crowd before the hotel was thick enough so that the rubble burying Jane could not been seen. "Did you push her down?"
"No -- God, no! But I had her hand in mine and she had hurt her ankle and fell and I didn’t wait or go back for her!" Marty looked up, finally, a pained expression on his face. "I let her die!"
Doc wondered if that young woman was supposed to die or if Marty had indeed caused the accident. He shuddered inside, wondering if they would be returning to an altered reality because of this. If she was supposed to live, he thought. They couldn’t do anything about it now, though if the world had indeed changed from the one they’d left, they had an excellent idea on where the past had skewed.
"You don’t know that," he said. "You said she was hurt, didn’t you?"
Marty nodded.
"Then if you hadn’t been there in the first place, she might’ve made the same trip on her own with the same result."
"But maybe she didn’t...."
"Then I think we might know that when we get home."
Marty pondered that for a moment, then nodded again. "Can we leave, now?"
Doc didn’t relish breaking the news to him about the DeLorean. "Well... ah, eventually."
Marty blinked, the rather dazed expression in his eyes beginning to dissipate. "What do you mean ‘eventually’?"
"There’s something wrong with the car -- not the time machine, the car," Doc stressed immediately. "I’m fairly certain I can repair it and get us home, but it might take most of the day, possibly tonight."
Marty leaned back in the bench and covered his face with his hands. "Oh, man...."
"It could be worse, Marty. Do you feel up to the hike back, now?"
"I guess so. I can’t wait to leave this place, that’s for sure."
Doc stood up and readied himself in case Marty needed any sudden assistance. His friend got up slowly, wobbled a little, then seemed to regain his balance and purposefully walked away from the hotel without another look back. Though he said nothing about it, Doc saw a funny, trembling line to his mouth as he averted his eyes from the site of Jane’s demise.
"I got your note," Marty said when they had put a block between them and the hotel. "Unfortunately, it wasn’t until after the earthquake. You knew about it?"
"Yes. But not until around two in the morning." Doc recounted the realization of that date, his decision to bring the time machine to the hotel, and the note he left.
"I didn’t even see that note," Marty said, sounding apologetic. "I got back to my room around three, I think, and went to bed. Then the quake hit and I had to leave my room and the building by the fire escape, since my door was jammed shut. Now there’s something I never want to relive!" He shivered.
Doc didn’t blame him in the least. "That was incredibly dangerous," he said.
"Like I don’t know that? But it was the only way I could get out."
"Actually, if you’d used the escape to get to a different window and climb in through there, you probably could’ve used the stairs inside."
Marty sighed. "I realized that, too -- once I got down. Oh, well."
They passed more and more people, going the opposite way they were, carrying as many belongings as they could. Despite a parade of survivors heading away from the direction of smoke, Doc noticed some people still residing comfortably in their homes. The panic over the quake seemed to have settled down a little and people were speaking in more normal tones of voice, if not a little hushed. In the distance, faint over the conversations and footsteps, a bell chimed repeatedly.
"What is that noise?" Marty finally asked, wearing a pained expression on his face. "It’s really starting to get on my nerves."
"I believe the bell might be the fire trucks in the city," the scientist replied. "San Francisco almost burned to the ground three other times prior to this. Based on those past experiences, the city made what they believed to be an ‘indestructible’ fire department, believing that another out-of-control fire wouldn’t happen again. Obviously, this is proving them wrong. It’s just too much to handle at once, between the quake and the fire."
"How strong was it, anyway? The quake, I mean."
"The official estimate was 8.3, if I remember correctly. I know that’s been under a little controversy, what with different sources showing different readings, but I do believe it’s been generally agreed that the quake would’ve registered above 8.0. It was definitely a unique experience to be through one of this strength, no matter what it would be measured."
Marty snorted softly. "No kidding. I hope I never have to deal with it again."
Doc’s mind returned to Marty’s earlier comment, about how he should’ve saved Jane’s life. If she had originally lived through this.... "I hope so, too," he agreed.
* * *
It took a little more than an hour before they reached the site of the DeLorean, due to a scattering of house fires burning in their intended route. Doc was able to locate a detour around the smoldering buildings, but their new route was also filled with people going in the opposite direction. The scientist frequently felt as if he was swimming in a sea of people, and keeping track of Marty so they weren’t separated from each other merely made it all the more challenging. When they finally reached their goal, however, they found it free of both fire and other people. Doc was rather relieved, having been concerned that some of the townspeople might have decided to camp on the site, which would make repairing the time machine more difficult.
They had hardly reached their temporary home when the ground started to shake again from another aftershock, and one a lot stronger than that which had brought down the wall of the Parker Palace hotel. At the shaking, Marty’s face abruptly drained of color and he collapsed to his knees, staying like that for a good ten minutes after the quaking had stopped. Doc’s queries as to whether or not he was all right were answered with a nod, but the scientist had his doubts. He didn’t press on with an interrogation, however, realizing that the sooner they were able to diagnose and repair what had gone wrong with the time machine, the better off they would both be.
With Marty’s help, he got to work setting the car up on some blocks of wood that had been stored in the back of the abandon barn. His friend prowled around the barn nervously as Doc examined things under the car with the flashlight. After a few hours of poking around, he believed he had located the problem -- the DeLorean’s fuel pump had gone out. He had another one in either the trunk or the so-called "backseat" of the car, but it would take several hours to remove the old one and install the new one. Marty didn’t look happy with the news, muttering something about how the car might fall on Doc if there was another aftershock, but there was really no other way around it. After a short break for an early lunch with some of the supplies that Doc had included in the car for any emergencies, he returned to working on the car.
The pumps were exchanged successfully by late afternoon, but there were still problems. The car still wasn’t starting and the battery didn’t seem to be holding enough juice to keep trying to crank the engine, meaning he had to be cautious in his attempts to start the car. Doc began to take more of the car apart, searching in vain for an answer and wishing, not for the first time, that he was a little more experienced with the mechanics of cars. While it was true that he had practically taken apart this DeLorean while installing the time traveling circuits and equipment, there was a great deal of car-related mechanics that he hadn’t touched. Although he had thoroughly investigated the fuel system in the first DeLorean back when he had been stranded in 1885 by a bolt of lightning, Doc wasn’t quite sure what was going wrong now, save for the engine still not getting any fuel.
The scientist finally took a break near dark to fix something for dinner. Marty mostly picked at the food -- beef jerky and a cup of instant soup -- but Doc was too preoccupied with the time machine’s problems to notice. He tried to keep the teen busy afterwards by having him hand over the proper tools when needed and trying to start the car when Doc made adjustments, but Marty finally muttered something about being tired and trying to get some sleep. Hardly aware of his own exhaustion, although he had been up for better than a day straight now, Doc grunted his approval and went back to work.
A couple hours later, he was distracted from his task -- examining some of the relays under the car’s dashboard -- by another aftershock. He looked up, set his tools on the passenger seat, and eyed the barn a little cautiously. Marty had found a couple old lanterns at the back earlier in the day, and now both were lit and turned up fully to illuminate the space around the DeLorean. The light they gave out showed a frayed rope swaying gently above, from the hayloft, but that was about it. The trembling didn’t last too long, perhaps ten seconds, before it faded away.
Doc was about to turn around and go back to his investigation when something caught the corner of his eye. He turned his head in time to see Marty running towards the doors, quickly. The scientist called out his name, but he didn’t stop, shoving one of the doors open and escaping outside. Puzzled and concerned, Doc got out of the car and traced his steps out of the building.
"Marty!" he called again as he stepped outside. "What’s wrong?"
He got his answer to the question a few seconds later, when Marty stopped near the burned out remains of the home, leaned over, and made the unsavory sounds of one getting sick. Doc turned away immediately, though the darkness outside made it impossible to see anything, and stepped back into the barn. He figured his friend probably didn’t want an audience for that sort of thing.
When a few minutes had passed and Marty hadn’t returned, he went outside again, tentatively, and found the teen sitting on the slope overlooking the city, his shoulders slumped and his face buried in his hands. The view was rather disturbing, Doc thought. Large portions of the city were clearly burning, the flames visible, and kicking so much smoke into the air that the skies above were blackened from it. The air outside tasted of smoke and it wasn’t much better inside the barn.
Doc approached him slowly. "Marty, are you all right?" he asked.
Marty didn’t answer him, not moving from his position. Doc reached his side a moment later and touched his shoulder gently. "Marty?"
"You’d better not go over to the house," Marty said, so softly that Doc could hardly catch his voice. "I just puked on what used to be the back stairs."
"Are you all right?"
"That depends on your idea of ‘all right,’" Marty said, his tone utterly flat. "If you’re thinking I got food poisoning or something, scratch that. It’s the damn aftershock that turned my stomach. I can’t take the quakes, Doc, I really can’t. My nerves are just shattered after today."
Doc felt a little relieved that that had been the reason behind his getting sick, not an illness as he had feared. "The aftershocks won’t hurt you," he said, kneeling next to the teen. "They’re tapering off and will continue to do so. And if that barn didn’t go down in the big one, then I don’t think these smaller ones will bug it. Is that all that’s bothering you?"
Marty shrugged, his face still in his hands. "I can’t sleep," he said. "I feel like I could pass out I’m so tired -- and at this point, I wish I would -- but I can’t sleep."
"Because of the quake? That’s not entirely unexpected, or abnormal."
Marty lifted his head up, finally, and Doc saw tears soaking his cheeks. His eyes were focused straight ahead, on the burning city in the distance. "It’s Jane," he whispered. "I keep thinking about her, seeing her every time I close my eyes. She was fine, Doc. She made it out of the hotel and quake fine and I -- I--" His voice broke and he turned his face away, one hand covering his eyes.
"Marty, it wasn’t your fault," Doc said softly. "You--"
"Oh, bull," Marty said, turning around suddenly, his eyes suddenly blazing. "Maybe I wasn’t the one who tripped her and maybe I wasn’t the one who cause her to hurt her ankle, but I was the one who had her in my hand when that aftershock hit. And when she fell, I didn’t give a damn. I just went ahead and then that damn wall fell on her. It is my fault. If I hadn’t been so damn selfish, she’d be alive now!"
"That’s not true."
"Isn’t it? How would you feel if you hadn’t tried to rescue Clara and she went over the edge?"
Doc’s own stomach turned at the idea and his heart gave a most uncomfortable twist. "Terrible," he said without hesitation. "And I don’t doubt you feel that way now. But what exactly was your relationship to Jane Parker? I thought you were just friends."
"We were -- but it wouldn’t matter if she was some stranger off the street. I could’ve saved her life and I didn’t! And I saw her die, Doc! I saw that wall come down on her! Jesus Christ, have you ever seen someone die?"
"Not in a sudden and violent matter like that," Doc admitted. "But Marty, this might’ve been an incident that happened before we were even here. You taking her hand might’ve done nothing to stop it. And perhaps we might be better off if you didn’t save her life."
"Why?" Marty asked. "You saved Clara and nothing bad happened."
"Yes," Doc said slowly. "But that was different."
Marty snorted softly. "How? How would it be different from Jane’s situation?"
"I don’t know, but it could be. Marty, just because one person lived when they didn’t before didn’t cause any major paradoxes or problems, doesn’t mean another saved individual won’t. Each case is different. Clara’s situation was extremely fortunate for us all, and her presence isn’t even a danger anymore, now that she’s in the future. We couldn’t very well drag Jane back to the future with us. You know that."
Marty was silent for a moment. "It still doesn’t seem very nice to me," he said softly.
"I won’t argue with you on that. But at least she went quickly. She wasn’t caught in the fire, or trapped under a building until she starved to death."
"I guess." Marty bowed his head and Doc saw a few more tears slip down his face. He politely looked away, giving his friend more time to get himself together.
"I’m sorry," Marty finally said, clearing his throat.
"For what?"
"For falling apart on you like this. You don’t really need this on top of everything else, do you?"
"Don’t worry about it. You’ve had a lot of trauma today and it’s perfectly natural that you’re behaving and feeling the way you do." Doc stood. "I’m going to make you some of the tea that’s in with the supplies. I think it might make you feel better."
"Sure. Whatever." By the tone in Marty’s voice, it was clear he doubted anything could make him feel better.
Doc had left their fire smoldering outside and it didn’t take him long to get it going again or fill up a small silver pot that had been in the DeLorean’s trunk with some of the bottled water that had been with the emergency food supplies. As he waited for the water to boil, the scientist found the tea he had noticed before, as well as a bottle of pills that had been in the first-aid kit, also in the trunk. Recalling Marty’s comment earlier of being utterly exhausted but unable to sleep, Doc popped open the top and poured out a couple of the over-the-counter sedatives. By the time he found one of the plastic mugs packed with the food and emptied the contents of the capsules into it, the water was hot enough.
Marty hadn’t moved from his position on the hill as the scientist had prepared his drink. Doc brought the tea over to him and then let him be, returning inside to figure out what was wrong with the DeLorean. He got his answer about twenty minutes later, when he finally found a shorted out relay that the wiring for the fuel pump apparently looped through. He couldn’t see any reason for the short when he examined it as well he could in lantern light, and finally concluded that it was just one of those fluky things that happened sometimes with modern day electronics.
Aside from delaying their departure for about a day, the problem wasn’t anywhere near as bad as it could’ve been. Doc had a small box of spares and, while digging through them, Marty returned. He looked up from his search for a moment.
"Feeling any better?" he asked.
Marty shrugged, setting the now-empty mug on the hood of the car. "Did you figure out what went wrong, yet?"
"I believe so. One of the relays that monitors the pump overloaded. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour to have a new one installed and everything put back the way it was. Then we can leave."
"Great. Need any help?"
"No, I’ve got things under control. Why don’t you lie down for a while, see if you can get any sleep."
"Yeah, right. I wouldn’t count on it."
But despite his own words, Marty headed for the back of the barn, into a stall that had been used to keep hay, where he had tried to sleep before, despite Doc’s earlier suggestion that the hayloft might’ve been more comfortable. (Then again, if he had had to creep down twelve stories on a shaky fire escape, Doc might be a bit leery of leaving ground floors for a bit, too, especially in the same time and place as the quake.)
The relay was replaced without a problem and the car started on the second try when Doc tested it. He let out a deep sigh of relief, then shut off the car and started to put things away and clean up. When that chore was completed he checked the time -- it was shortly after one in the morning -- then went to check up on Marty, who had remained quiet, even after the car had started. He found his friend asleep, finally, and decided not to disturb him. Figuring that returning home could wait a few hours, Doc settled down in the passenger seat of the car and fell asleep quickly.
When he woke up, early morning light was slanting through the cracks between the barn’s boards, slicing through the smokey haze that drifted through the air. Out of a deeply ingrained habit, Doc consulted one of his watches for the current time and saw it was shortly after six in the morning. A little later than he had wanted to sleep, but it couldn’t be helped, now. The scientist got out of the car and stretched tentatively, a faint but persistent ache in the back of his neck, either from sleeping in a car seat or from all of the earlier business with the DeLorean.
Doc headed for the back of the barn and looked in on Marty again. He was still sleeping, but he knew he couldn’t let his friend be any longer -- not unless they wanted to wait around all day, until it was again dark enough to use the time machine. Reluctant, Doc shook him awake and told him that things were ready to go. Marty stared at him rather blankly for a moment, as if none of his words made a bit of sense, then muttered something about how he would be there in a minute. Doc left him and went outside, gasping slightly at the sight that greeted him.
"Great Scott," he breathed.
Most of what he could see of San Francisco, or what remained of the city, was bright orange. The parts of the city that weren’t were charred a dirty black, buildings looking as if they’d been fire bombed. Smoke billowed up from the ruins, so thick that it blotted out the sun, which looked like only a vague orange ball on the horizon. Even the temperature outside was a little warm, perhaps as a result from the smoke in the air or the fires burning a couple miles away. Pieces of ash dirtied the already faded paint on the barn. All in all, the surrounding view looked like something out of a war movie or a hell.
"I can’t believe that’s San Francisco," a voice said softly from behind. Doc nearly jumped, startled, and turned to see Marty hovering in the doorway. Despite the sleep he’d had, he still looked tired, as if the simple task of standing was almost too much for him to bear. Doc wondered now if giving him the sedatives on the sly was now the best idea. "It’s unbelievable that they were able to completely rebuild the city."
"Man has conquered a lot of setbacks throughout time," Doc said, trying not to breathe too deeply in the hazy air. "Feeling better this morning?"
"I think I will when we’re back home," Marty said. "Can we go now? I never want to see this place and time again as long as I live."
"I think we can arrange that," Doc agreed, sharing his sentiments. "Let me just take one more look around to make sure we’re not forgetting anything, and we can go home."