So sorry that it's late…and rather short. That's the way the cookie crumbles. I was also so slow at writing this one, I have no idea why, let's hope it isn't writer's block setting in!
Fine-Tuning the Future
Chapter 4
It turned out to be the longest day Marty could remember. After several paper planes being thrown in his direction, some name-calling and even a scene he could remember watching, he thought he'd pass out. It was the same scene that had once played out in front of him not long ago that got him. It involved his teenage father, a piece of paper, and everybody else.
He never saw Jennifer again that day, and he was glad of that. He wanted to apologise, but also had his pride to think about. That came with being a teenager in school, you had to be aware of your placement in the hierarchy, and you also had to give up a few things to keep it.
Marty breathed a sigh of relief as the final bell rang for the end of the school day.
He stumbled down the main steps at the front of the building and out into the cold. Not looking forward to the long walk home, he stood about for a while, if only to regain his senses from the numbing mist hanging like a sheet across the floor.
He stayed fixed to the ground for as long as he thought he could, before finally giving in and beginning the journey he guessed he should get used to, now his skateboard was out of action.
He had given his mother a false promise that morning; he didn't enter the cafeteria once that day, if only out of laziness. He felt truly ill, but he only had himself to blame.
The tips of his trainers caught against the paving slabs on the pavement as he walked, and he even lost balance whilst moving forward, slipping and falling into a fence or a wall.
Tiny, round patches of wet appeared like magic in front of him, and then he felt the culprits dampening his hair. The rain changed from a slow drizzle to a freezing torrent in a matter of minutes.
Puddles formed in the potholes in the road and at the side of the kerb. Marty splashed through every one that lay in his path. The bottoms of his jeans were dark with water and mud, and as vehicles thundered past, headlights flashing and windscreen wipers working double-time, they sent waves of dirty water across the pavements.
The sky was darkening and everything was covered in a dark blue hue. Black clouds rolled through the sky, rumbling threateningly.
Not trying to speed his pace, Marty instead slowed it down, the rain was relaxing, in a way. He smiled, at least this way, if he cried, no-one could tell.
The rain was so heavy now; he could only see a few metres in front of his feet. The wobbling headlights and reflections on the road were the only source of light on the entire street.
Marty decided that he had better take the way home via the town centre. There would be more light and less danger of being killed crossing the roads.
Stopping and turning ninety degrees to face the shimmering road, he perched on the edge of the kerb.
Looking down the road for much longer than he needed to, Marty took one step out onto it.
He ran across, but he didn't need to. He wasn't breathless when he reached the other side and thankful for it.
He was now completely soaked through; his clothes were dark and dripping. His hair was limp and his fringe was stinging his eyes.
Glancing up to see whether he recognised the buildings, Marty spun on his heel to look again at the road that he had just dashed over. A lone car travelled past, cruising at thirty miles an hour.
The rain came down like stair rods, and the sound of cars and houses being pummelled by the raindrops was all around the street.
Marty walked another yard or so, and turned down an alley. He kept his head down around these places. If you look occupied and don't look like you're lost, you can usually get away with walking through unscathed.
The alley had looked a lot different in 2015. It was no less dirty and degraded.
Emerging out into the town square, he met a blast of light. Shop windows were battling with each other to look the most bright and appealing.
Marty strolled across the road now; it was far easier to see cars coming around corners. Avoiding the sodden grass and the small floods across the pavement, he stared up at the courthouse in the centre of the square. The old clock was still locked in place, and he knocked the shoulders of people minding their own business rushing past him as he watched it, as if he was waiting for the hands to move.
He vaguely heard the remarks they gave as they jostled past.
"Watch it, jerk," and "Get the Hell out the way, kid," were among the milder ones.
Silently wishing he could return to the fifties, when everyone except Biff and his gang were polite and friendly, polished and sophisticated.
Marty felt the urge to sit down and listen to the traffic filing down the roads on either side of the square, but he wasn't so desperate as to get any wetter than he already was.
Continuing down the pavement before meeting the kerb once again, he imagined himself on his skateboard and grabbing the back of an unsuspecting vehicle, allowing it to drag him home free of charge at forty miles an hour.
Shaking the image from his mind, Marty teetered on the edge of the kerb before stepping out onto the road once more.
Despite the glaring lights beating down on the road, he still missed the pair of floating headlights on his right that were drawing closer.
There was a squeaking of tyres and a long blast. Marty slipped over on the road and then the bobbing headlights were on him.
He was nose to grill with the car. He heard the click of a door being swung open, and a middle-aged man leaned out.
"What the HELL do you think you're doing, you idiotic boy? I could have killed you! Get out of here! It's too dark to be walking around here! Go home!" said the man, his voice filled with panic. Marty knew he was shouting more at himself than at him, the stupid kid sitting on the road in the path of his car.
"I'm sorry, I'll look next time," Marty said mournfully. He got up, but there was no point brushing of his trousers, as they were plastered with too much mud for it to do any good.
He walked to the pavement and watched the man drive away quickly.
It was pitch black now, and the man was right. He should head for home, not that he wasn't doing that in the first place. Marty tried to check his watch, but it read three thirty, and he knew it was later than that. His watch was as dead as the clock on the courthouse.
The rest of the journey was a blur, and he even closed his eyes for part of it, as he passed Doc's old lab. He couldn't bear to even look at the gate.
…………………………………………………………
Throwing open the door so roughly that Marty panicked for a fleeting moment that he had marked the wall, he shut it again quietly behind him and stepped into the hallway.
The first thing he looked for was a clock, and he found one hanging from the wall. He squinted up at it, and it read quarter past five.
Had he really taken that long to get home?
"Wilma, I'm home…" Marty said loudly. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were twitching. Then his shoulders went, shaking irrepressibly.
His legs gave way and he knelt on the floor. Resting one hand on his forehead, he looked up to see the dark hallway. It was then that he finally caught on.
No-one was home.
He ran clumsily to the window and peered out. His fears were confirmed. The car was gone. They had left to door open so he could let himself in, re-lock it and wait for them.
How long had they been gone? He hoped they hadn't left in search of him.
Why would they look for him anyway, he sometimes arrived home late, that was the way things turned out.
He didn't want to go back outside into the cold and the rain, but out there he could see if they were on their way back.
He left his bag where he dropped it and opened the door once again. He dashed out onto the driveway and searched the dark for the same kind of headlights that he had just encountered, too close for comfort.
He saw them. Or was it just some? It could have been anything from that distance. He looked the other way, and saw another pair.
He perceived that they would pass each other, as they were coming closer and seemingly far away.
How right he thought he was, as the pair of headlights on the right suddenly accelerated, disappeared from sight, and returned. There was more screeching of tyres, and Marty's stomach twisted as he saw what the car was doing.
It was spinning out of control.
There was a sickening scream of rubber on tarmac, and crash that made Marty cry out and then silence.
That was before the screaming began.