The man was wearing his pajamas, and looked quite tired. But most of all, the one thing that stuck out in Marty's mind, was that he looked just like him, only older. It was almost scary. He stared at Marty, slightly groggy. "Marty, what are you doing up at this hour in the morning? It's a school night." Marty stumbled back – even this guy knew his name. "Hey, I need help, or medical attention, or something. I…" Why was he talking to this man? He couldn't trust anyone! The man started to talk again. "C'mon, Marty Jr., you're my son! You can tell me-" "I'm your WHAT?" exclaimed Marty, reaching for the door again. He soon realized again that he couldn't open it. He glanced at the window once again. By now, that window was looking pretty good. As his 'father' started to talk more, Marty shut him out of his mind, and slowly inched to the window. Once he was close enough, he took a deep breath and kicked the window, shattering it instantly, and Marty jumped through it. The other man who claimed to be his father gasped in astonishment.
Marty landed in a thorn bush, which threatened to scratch through his skin until he stumbled out of it. Once he was out, he realized the house alarm was going off, and his father was coming out the front door. How did he do that with no door knob? Wondered Marty as he started running down the street. And why did he call me "Marty Jr.? The "Bathroom Attendant" didn't say anything about that. And when did they start making "Bathroom Attendants" in 1985 bathrooms? As Marty continued to run down the street, he saw things that were completely unfamiliar to him. A strange-looking car was parked by the side of the road. Houses looked weird – almost futuristic.
Marty needed more information. But first, he checked back beside him as he ran. His father was out of sight. He began at a walking pace, and slowed his breathing. Trying to recall what had happened last that he could remember, the headache came back, even worse. For some reason some kind of mind block kept him from remembering anything. A frightening thought occurred to him: He might have gotten amnesia somehow. But that only happened on rare occasions, didn't it? But was that the only possible solution? Marty didn't know.
All was dark and quiet. He was exiting the neighborhood where he had been. The sign read "Treymoore." It sounded like a decent place to live. But something in Marty's mind tried to escape. For some reason, the sign should have read something like "Hilldull…" something like that. Marty was getting frustrated. He paced back and forth now, clueless as to what he should do. Finally, he walked up to the sign and punched it with his fist in a rage. He let out a yell of frustration. WHY COULDN'T HE REMEMBER ANYTHING?
"PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND TURN AROUND SLOWLY! DO NOT MAKE ANY ATTEMPT TO RUN!" Marty did as he was told and turned around. Two cops came and handcuffed him, and shoved him in a cop car. The cop car took off into the night sky.
