Though he had been careful driving the DeLorean back to the train tracks, Doc had a feeling that any attempt at time traveling would be closely monitored by Egret. There was nothing he could do about it, however—he had to find Marty. He would bank on the fact that Egret had no way of knowing that Marty had ended up with his past self, and that Doc would, therefore, know exactly where to find him.

"Let's see… The evening of June 15th was when I'd found Marty near the ravine," he recalled. "We went downtown the next day—I'll try to intercept us then."

He set the time circuits to June 16th, 1932, had the DeLorean enter hover mode, and took to the skies to reach 88 mph and make the jump to 1932. Doc was just getting his bearings when he spotted that odd shimmering near the ground; the patch of shimmering area was larger than before, and as he stared, he saw Egret's car emerge from the shimmering patch.

So that was it; Egret's tachyon device had no flux capacitor to travel through the space-time continuum—so it just tore a hole in it. The hole seemed to eventually repair itself, but Doc knew that there was no guarantee that it would continue to do so—if the continuum was damaged by reckless usage of that machine, it could mean disaster for everyone who ever lived—or would live.

The machine would have to be destroyed. First of all, however, Marty had to be found before Egret sent him to some other point in the continuum.

Doc sped off, hoping to outdistance her, before bringing the DeLorean down and hiding it in some shrubbery on the outskirts of town. There'd still be just enough time to make it downtown and intercept his past self and Marty—as long as he got to them before Egret did, that would solve the first problem.

And as Doc headed towards downtown from one side, his younger counterpart, saxophone case in hand and Marty by his side, was walking towards the center of town from the other side, having parked his car some distance away—it had been a lovely spring day, and Emmett had hoped that walking the familiar streets would help Marty remember more.

It was working, in a way—Marty felt a sense of familiarity, but, of course, things didn't seem quite right—the bits and pieces he could remember didn't line up with what he was seeing.

Weird, I thought the 7-11 was right around here… Maybe I'm just not remembering it right…

He assumed that was it, and continued walking, trying to recount the Hill Valley he knew to Emmett, who also assumed the same.

"Well, at least you're getting a vague sense of where you are," Emmett was saying. "That's still better than where you were yesterday."

"Yeah, that's true," Marty said. "It's funny, though—why do I seem to be remembering things to be different…?"

He trailed off as a car sped down the street, which also got Emmett's attention, as it was a 1984 model—one Emmett had never seen before, as a result.

But Marty knew he had seen it before—and the woman in the front passenger seat, with her dark sunglasses, yelling at her driver to speed up. The color drained from his face. He remembered that part of things now—being chased near the ravine on his skateboard, getting knocked off and hitting his head…

Marty let out a broken cry, prompting Emmett to glance at him in concern.

"Great Scott! Marty, are you alright!?"

"No…!" Marty exclaimed. "She's the one!"

"The one… what?" Emmett asked, his eyes wide.

"She's why I lost my memory! I remember now—her ordering her driver to go after me; she hit me with something, and I fell and hit my head on the railroad track…!" Marty let out another broken cry as his knees gave out from under him. "She must still be after me! Emmett, you gotta help me! You gotta—!"

"Of course I'll help, Marty!" Emmett vowed, trying to help him up. He was torn—as he'd guessed, the unpleasant shock was certainly jolting Marty's memories, but seeing his friend in such a panic was heartbreaking. "Look, the music shop is just a block away—Artie and Trixie will help us—especially if they really are related to you. Do you think you can make it there?"

Marty's legs were still shaking, his knees threatening to give out again; even as Marty looked at him to give him a shake of his head, Emmett realized that Marty wasn't going to make it.

"That's the way she was going…" Marty pointed out, and he instead tried to make his way to the nearest alleyway.

Emmett helped him get there, still looking at him in concern as Marty now sat down on the ground behind a trash can to catch his breath, not caring about how dirty it was.

"Okay, maybe we should just go back to the mansion, then," Emmett decided.

"No, I'm fine," Marty insisted. "I just need to stay out of sight."

"…Why don't I believe that?" Emmett returned. This wasn't the first time Marty had claimed to be fine when he clearly wasn't.

"Look, it was… just a shock, that's all," Marty said. "I'd rather stay here, out of her way. You do what you gotta at the music shop, and by the time you come back, I'm sure I'll be able to walk again."

Emmett paused, a voice in the back of his mind warning him against leaving Marty alone, even for a short while. But the color was beginning to return to Marty's face; maybe he did just need a bit of time to recover—and it wouldn't take long to grab the reeds and ask Artie about George.

"Okay," he said, going against his better judgment. "But as soon as I'm finished there, we're going straight back to the mansion."

"Fine; I'll stay right here…" Marty sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. "See you in a bit."

Emmett hesitated, once again arguing with his better judgment, before nodding.

"I'll be back in fifteen minutes," he promised.

With that, he headed to the music shop at a quicker pace than he had intended.

"Emmett!" Trixie exclaimed. "Back so soon?"

"I'm glad I caught you this time!" Artie added. "It's been a while!"

"Yeah, it has," Emmett said, clearly distracted. "Um, I just need some reeds for a tenor saxophone…"

"Sure," Trixie said, grabbing a pack of them. "How'd the guitar go over?"

"Oh, it went over great!" Emmett said. "Marty loved it."

"…Who's Marty?" she asked.

Artie also looked confused.

Emmett then paused, realizing that Marty must not have revealed his real name to Trixie or Artie like he had to him. But why…? Come to think of it, why was a mysterious woman after him, too?

"…Nevermind," he said, getting out his wallet to pay for the reeds. "But while I'm here, I've got a quick question for Artie."

"Sure, what's up?"

"Do you have a relative named George? George McFly?"

"No, I don't," Artie mused. "But it's funny you should ask."

"How so?" Emmett asked, disappointed that he'd reached a dead end to this angle.

"Artie and I have been talking about our future together," Trixie explained. "The next step for us is to start a family, obviously."

"And we'd just decided, if we ever have a son, we'd want to name him George," Artie finished. "So, in regards to your question, I guess the real answer is 'Not yet.'"

Emmett stared. Any other day, he would have dismissed it purely as sheer coincidence, but too many things now, suddenly, made more sense than they ever had before—Marty constantly acting like he'd been hiding something on all of his other visits, including his true name… How he'd been so insistent that he knew what Emmett needed and how he'd kept on interfering… Marty remembering the street layout differently now… That odd-sounding music he liked and those equally odd-looking clothes… And, lastly, the smoking gun that had been on that music—Copyright 1986…

It was almost too incredible to believe, but there had to be only one explanation—Marty was from the future.

"…Great Scott…" he murmured.

"You alright, Emmett?" Trixie asked.

"Yeah—I'm fine!" Emmett insisted, his head swimming. "Look, I've gotta run—it was nice catching up!"

Artie and Trixie waved to him as he paid for the reeds and practically bolted out the door of the shop, exchanging baffled and concerned glances with each other.

Emmett was heading back down the street, pausing as he saw a familiar figure waiting on the sidewalk.

"…Carl Sagan…?" he asked, more to himself.

He looked different—somehow younger, with a full head of hair, and all-around better than when he'd met him last at the Expo (not realizing, of course, that the version he'd met had been the alternate one from the timeline where he'd married Edna).

Odd, though—the last time he'd seen him had been the last time he'd seen Marty, too; now Marty was here, and so was he…

Maybe that's not a coincidence, either, Emmett thought to himself.

"Sagan" had finally noticed him; exhaling, as though steeling himself for something, the older man now headed in his direction. But the both of them were soon distracted by a female voice coming from another alley that the older man was walking past.

"Oh, Doctor…" the voice said, almost tauntingly.

"Sagan" turned to look into the alley, and his expression changed from one of annoyance to abject terror.

Emmett watched in some confusion now as the older man ignored him completely, turning into the alley.

"What!?" he angrily hissed. "Haven't you done enough!?"

Emmett now crept closer until he was just to the side of the alley's entrance. He leaned over just enough to take a look, and quickly drew back, for the woman was the same one he had seen in the bizarre car—the one that had caused Marty to panic.

"You didn't take my offer, Doctor," the woman tutted.

"Maybe because you ended up being wrong," Sagan retorted. "I didn't need your help!"

"You haven't found him yet, Doctor," she reminded him. "…But I suspect he can't be too far away. Why else would you be here?"

A chill ran down Emmett's spine as he quickly put the pieces together.

They're talking about Marty—she really is out to get him! Is it because he's from the future!?

The man's voice dropped to a low growl again, and, sure enough—

"You stay away from Marty," he ordered.

"I'm through with any pretense, Doctor," the woman said, though she did take a step back again. "I'll give it to you straight out—if you care at all about what happens to that boy, you'll get my machine working in a way that I can control it."

"Your machine is causing a tear in the fabric of the space-time continuum!" he retorted. "If left unchecked, it could cause irreversible damage! And even if it wasn't—I can't allow you to use it for the irresponsible and unconscionable plans that you have!"

"None of that means anything to me, Doctor. And you know what means even less to me? That boy. I do wish it hadn't come to this, but you leave me no choice. Maybe you'll be more cooperative once you hear him screaming in agony." She smirked. "After I got out to wait for you here, I sent my associate to find him; I know he has to be around here—you were expecting to meet him, weren't you? I expect my associate has found him already."

Young Emmett paled—and so did his older counterpart. Without even waiting to hear the rest of the conversation, he slipped past the alley as casually as he could so as to seem as a passerby. The moment he was out of sight, he bolted down the street at full speed.

I knew I shouldn't have left him! he mentally chided himself.

Within minutes, he was nearing the other alley, hoping that everything was fine and that Marty was still hiding…

The sound of crashing metal quickly told him otherwise; the trash can had just been knocked over in a struggle, and even as Emmett now ran closer to the alley, Marty now ran out of it, once again pale and in a panic. He spotted Emmett, reaching a hand out to him as he started to run towards him, but an arm came into view from the alley, striking Marty across his back and shoulders.

"No—!" Emmett cried, as Marty fell forward with a groan.

Marty was unconscious even before he hit the ground, and his attacker was dragging him back into the alley as Emmett finally reached it, staring at an unknown man who looked startled to see Emmett there, not realizing that he was the younger version of his boss's objective.

"This kid is drunk—he got violent with me," the man lied to his unexpected witness. "Had to knock him out for his own safety; I'll get him some help—"

Emmett felt his blood boil more with every word and every lie; charged with righteous anger and an ardent wish to save his friend, he swung his heavy saxophone case at the attacker at just the perfect angle to throw him off of his center of gravity. The man fell back, hitting the ground hard, also knocked out.

As much as Emmett wanted to find some way of apprehending the man, he knew his priority was getting Marty out of here; that woman had terrible things planned for him. He knelt beside his friend, gently trying to bring him around.

"Marty…? Marty, you've got to wake up!"

It was no good—he was out cold.

With a sigh, Emmett now transferred Marty across his shoulders in a fireman's carry, picked up his saxophone case, and ran as fast as he could with all the weight he was carrying, determined to get his friend-from-the-future to safety.