NOTE: I'm using Frasier Crane's map from the message board, as well as my own observations of the town square, for the geographical locations.
October 26th, 1985-A.
11:45 P.M.
"George...your father...is in the same place he's been for the last 12 years," the drastically different version of Marty's mother said with a mixture of sadness and confusion. The latter, most likely, being from assuming Marty was familiar with this already. Of course, she had no way of knowing the young man sitting next to her wasn't actually the "him" of this world.
"Oak Park Cemetery," she quietly said, causing Marty to turn left a little, looking away from Lorraine as the sound of ominous thunder crashed outside. He was barely able to process all the information he was hearing.
"Mom! What are you talking about? How could--" a sudden realization hit him. "Are you saying he's dead?" the teen asked, lowering his voice to the point of not believing his own words, but no longer able to deny them either.
"Well, y-yes. Don't you remember? Just before you turned 5, back in 1973..." Lorraine started solemnly as though she were recounting a familiar event.
"I'm gettin' the hell outta here!" he said, rushing out the double doors in a blind panic. Any further words his "mother" might've said were lost, as he would've been too depressed to listen anyway. He made it to the elevator just outside in the hallway, shaking so much it took him a minute to find the right buttons to push.
Soon as it reached the ground floor and the ding went off, he blazed past the crowd of gamblers and casino-goers (not to mention, tons of bikers there for that night's convention), barely paying them any mind.
"Hey, kid, what the hell are ya doin'?" and "Watch it, jerk!" came a couple of shouts his way as he sprinted through the crowd, headed for the exit and breathing heavily.
On the way here, Marty had been in this outside world long enough to know it was far worse than Biff's hotel (heck, that was probably the only safe place in Hill Valley now!). That hardly mattered at the moment, though. He'd have rather been among the roughest scum in town than that monstrous version of Biff he'd just come face-to-face with.
Charging down the stairs and turning to the right, he noticed the Courthouse Square was slightly less busy than it had been two hours before. Some of the same people he'd ran across then were asleep by now, sleeping peacefully among the burned out cars, shopping carts and other garbage in the big circular parking lot.
After only a little running, Marty reached River Road and turned left, heading in the opposite direction that he had raced the DeLorean in to catch the lightning bolt that would take him back to the future just about a day ago. Or, technically 30 years ago.
Time travel sure confuses the hell outta me already, he thought, as he set off for Oak Park Cemetary.
Despite the fact that he was desperately sad over the realization of his dad's murder, not to mention horrendously confused as to what caused the state of this world, he still had enough sense to know he was going to a graveyard in the middle of the night. Marty was somewhat of a tough guy, rarely the type to be scared (even less to show it!), but common sense told him that making this trip -- even in his safe, normal 1985 -- would be a bit creepy.
Holy shit! What if there's more lovely people out there? Or vampires. Wait, grow up, McFly; none of that exists, but I'm sure not goin' out there in the dark like this!
Once he was maybe a quarter-mile away from the Pleasure Paradise, just past the War Zone bar (where Lou's Fitness Center was in "his" 1985), he noticed a big yet quite run-down liquor/convenience store. A few of the lighted letters were burnt out, and one of the windows had a large plastic cover over it. Without even thinking, he ran right in. While it wasn't quite as bad as the Square, it still had its share of prostitutes, drunks and the like hanging out, some casually eyeing him.
What the hell is going on here! It looks like Hitler himself is ruling this town.
Inside, he heard "I Can't Drive 55" on the sound system. Amongst the potential thieves and even a couple rough-looking kids playing the unrecognizable video game in the corner, he found the cashier -- a middle-aged guy half-asleep behind the counter.
"Hey man, I-I need a flashlight!" Marty said.
Coming out of his stupor a little, the man half-heartedly pointed toward one of the aisles. "Yeah, over there," he said, even less enthusiastic.
The teen hastily went into his wallet, randomly taking out a bill and tossing it on the counter. "Alright, alright look, here's 5 bucks," Marty said, not out of anger, but mere frustration and wanting to get moving. "Look, I--um, just keep the change. I gotta go!" he said, just finding the closest one on the rack he could and running back into the night.
"This thing better have batteries!" he said aloud as he ran and simultaneously opened the small plastic case, throwing it all on the ground as he ran. He was on a mission, and figured litter was just about the last thing anyone would care about.
The further away from the center of town he got, the quieter (yet creepier) it became. Passing the "Start" line where the DeLorean stalled in 1955, he stopped, getting nostalgic for a brief second. Now, he could notice the toxic air even more than before. The trees surrounding him were all either rotten, overgrown or cut down. He already knew his former home in Lyon Estates, two miles away, wasn't exactly in much better shape, so the thought of who could be out there walking among the dark night was more than a little unnerving. With the noise of the city now a bit behind him, he could still hear gunshots and screams in the distance every so often.
Perfect setting for the "Thriller" video, he thought a little sarcastically.
Just after crossing the railroad tracks, he turned off River Road to the right. He was now more than halfway there, but that was the easy part. He was now in the industrial section of town, which had an even more spooky-looking appearance than he was used to. After passing a few dilapidated, abandoned (no doubt with various homeless people taking refuge there) or otherwise seedy-looking garages and businesses, he could hear a few people yelling his way.
"Hey you, where' you think you're goin' now?" came one of them, followed by laughter and a few more less friendly remarks.
Marty could tell these weirdos were drunk, only prompting him to run faster. He was glad he had the flashlight, both for illumination and protection, if need be. He tended to block everything out as much as possible. After what seemed like an eternity -- although it had barely been five minutes since he left the liquor store at the speed he'd been running -- he finally came across the cemetary, looking a little less run-down than he'd feared and (luckily) deserted. Noticing the gate was locked, he was undeterred. Pumping with adrenaline, he merely climbed the fence, soldiering on through the dark landscape, looking for any sign of his father's gravesite. In his mind, he didn't want to see it, but felt as if he "had" to.
In a culmination of everything that was going through his mind now, he failed to hear the faint voice just as he was making his entry.
"Marty, is that you?"