CHAPTER TEN
Clock Wise

Tuesday, November 8, 1955
4:26 PM

Wherein Emmett Brown was not entirely preoccupied with the fact that he had built a time machine, he would have been able to appreciate this marvelously intriguing video equipment with his undivided attention. Of course the flux capacitor was grander on every scale, but only as far as he knew. How would a simple recording device, even mass-produced, outweigh the significance of time travel?

He had the opportunity to figure out the buttons here and there; referencing parts of the video to better understand the experiment as a whole or study a freeze-frame of the time circuits. He frowned every time he thought of the cab of that white van filled with the notes, schematics, and blueprints for the DeLorean, his lip twitching as he longed to have only a glimpse at them. Perhaps even with that, he'd have more confidence in getting Marty and Emma home.

Moving his pencil from between his teeth to his breast pocket, Emmett lifted his green-rimmed goggles and hit the rewind button, watching the fire trails dissolve on screen. In the quiet afternoon - shafts of sunlight striking through the dust particles of the lab, the high-pitched whirring of the device in his hand - his thoughts steered him slightly off-course as the tape ended.

They found me.

I don't know how, but they found me.

He swallowed, fingers slick on the controls.

Run for it.

The fear emanating from his elderly eyes struck him right through the television screen. His voice was some kind of shrill bark. It rattled him briefly to think that something could send him reeling into such a panicked state. What was worse was the slow realization that manifested on his face, knowing something terrible was about to happen.

Emmett blinked, rewinding and replaying.

His future self had said, "they found me," not "us."

Marty and Emma showed up wearing the same clothes from the video, disheveled and desperate. Emma's radiation suit, as crisp and fine as his and Marty's in the tape, had been crumpled in the DeLorean with a small entry point and a large halo of blood when he discovered it Sunday morning.

Whatever he'd done to whomever had found him, it had almost gotten them killed.

What had he done to endanger those kids like that?

Rewinding once more, the weight of the unknown settled greatly on his person. He daren't deliberate a second more, but he wasn't stupid.

Run for it.

…Had he run fast enough?

"Doc?"

Emmett gripped the camcorder to avoid sending it skyward at Marty's voice. Wide-eyed at seeing the two teenagers just beyond the DeLorean, Emmett began stumbling to his feet, his voice thick and somber when he found it.

"Oh, hi, Marty. Emma. I didn't hear you come in." Part for cover, part to recollect himself, and part because he couldn't take the pity in their eyes, he looked down at the camcorder. "Fascinating device, this video unit."

He sat it on top of the television as Marty and Emma regarded his tensed shoulders. He shut his eyes and swallowed quickly with his back to them, staying the unexpected urge to apologize. It was, first and foremost, his fault they were here. And it seemed it might also be his fault for the circumstances in which that came to be.

"Doc," – Emmett frowned, steeling himself against Marty's soft-spoken tone – "you know, there's something we haven't told you about the night we made that –"

No. Not a word. It would not be spoken of.

His voice rushed over Marty's loudly, desperate to drown out whatever would come after the end of that sentence. "Please, Marty, don't tell me," he demanded, moving past Emma to the long hook attached to the Delorean. "No man should know too much about his own destiny."

"Doc, you don't understand –"

"I do understand!" he insisted in his frustration.

I understand just enough.

"If I know too much about my own future, I could endanger my own existence," – Emmett spun to Marty, driving his point home – "just as you've endangered yours!"

Emma, willing the redness from her unblinking eyes, glanced between them in the tight silence. It was clear they had interrupted his inevitable piecing together of events, and his adamancy of overriding Marty's frightfully instinctive need to fill in the gaps all but assured her that he didn't want to come to the finality of a conclusion. Whether he'd reached the correct one on his own or not, it was imperative it not be spoken of.

Skin aflame at the daunting precipice, Emma suppressed a shudder at the way her not-yet father's eyes bored this message into Marty. Her friend had his heart in the same place she did, but, selfishly, she was as unprepared for this conversation as her dad was.

At long last, Marty yielded, making his hands do something to ease the air of their strained exchange. "You're – you're right."

With that, speculations died and a smile rose on Doc's face. Allowing herself to breathe again, the taut apprehension in Emma's chest diminished as he guided their attention to a white mass atop a ping pong table.

"Now, let me show you my plan for sending you home."

Coming around to its side, Emma's mouth opened, astonishment working a smile into the corners of her lips. A large, bright model of Hill Valley's town square was lain across the expanse of the tabletop. Everything from milk bottles, tackle and tool boxes, nails, and matchbooks were arranged in admirable detail to recreate the square. Her model of Pompeii for World History three years ago came to mind, widening her grin at how he had "improved" it after she went to bed the night before it was due.

Emma looked back at Marty, almost chuckling; chalk this up as yet another time where, when her father had presented something to them, her reaction was as enthusiastic as his silence was stunned.

"Please excuse the crudity of this model. I didn't have time to build it to scale or to paint it."

At this, Emma did laugh. Emmett narrowed his eyes at her, looking back at Marty.

"What's wrong? I know it's only a few hours' worth of work, b—"

"No, nothing, no." Marty said, patting him on the arm. "It's good."

"It's great," Emma assured him, stepping around to his other side. "Really."

"Well, thank you," Doc said as Marty joined Emma. "Thank you."

With Emma still smiling and Marty pocketing his hands, he received their undivided attention, adjusted his sleeves with a shrug of his shoulders, and touched the nail at the top of the model clock tower.

"Okay now. We run some industrial-strength electrical cable from the top of the clock tower," – their eyes followed his finger along the red and white "cable" – "down, to spreading it over the street between these two lamp posts.

"Meanwhile," he continued, crossing to the DeLorean, "we've outfitted the time vehicle with this big pole and hook which runs directly into the flux capacitor." He picked up a red-orange toy car, placing it on the further end of the table. "At the calculated moment, you start off down the street driving directly toward the cable, accelerating to eighty-eight miles per hour."

Emma lined herself up at the other end of the table, leaning down to examine how the car and cable would unite. She looked up at Doc's finger hovering over the nail again, the tiny face of a wristwatch set to their departure time just below it.

His hands danced about the model during his exposé. "According to the flyer, at precisely 10:04 PM this Saturday night, lightning will strike the clock tower, electrifying the cable just as the connecting hook makes contact, thereby sending 1.21 gigawatts into the flux capacitor and sending you back to 1985."

Marty's hands went deeper into his pockets as Emma stood straight, her brown skirt brushing against him as she rejoined him off to the side of the table. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he seemed to concede with a shrug that yeah, not bad.

"Alright now, watch this." Emmett clapped his hands together and handed Marty the toy car. "You wind up the car and release it," – Marty did so, both he and Emma creasing their brows at the giant plug Doc held up with fervor – "I'll simulate the lightning."

Emma's eyes lit up. "I want to be the lightning!"

"You're in the car," Doc said, deflating her. Withholding a grumble, she put a hand on her hip as Marty readied the car and the large, black plug entered the wall socket. She felt a further pang of jealousy as he lowered his goggles and held up two clamps; she hadn't gotten to play with electricity properly in weeks.

"Ready?"

Marty made a face that put a little humor back onto Emma's own, and Doc connected one of the clamps to the nearest lamppost. The other hung open in wait next to the large nail.

"Set."

Marty placed the nose of the car at the white line down the "street." Another second on bated breath, Doc finally gave the go-ahead: "Release!"

A series of high-pitched whines and squeals came from the car when Marty's hands pulled away. Moving forward in earnest, Emma watched the little car zip down the stretch of green road, itching with anticipation as the second clamp met the nail with a robust sizzle. A white streak of current leapt down the cable, its crackle erupting with a small boom and not-so-small burst of sparks that sent all three of them jumping backward in alarm.

The toy car, however, seemed totally unfazed by the fact that it was on fire. It passed the cabled lampposts and went through the model movie theater happily ablaze, continuing off the table with no-never mind until it steered itself into a pile of rags and ignited them. Waving the smoke away, Emma and Marty sounded off with disjointed coughs, following after Doc as he seized the fire extinguisher from a nearby beam and turned it on the mischievous car's handiwork.

Emma grimaced. "Shall I hunt down flame-retardant clothing?"

"You extol me with a lot of confidence as well, Doc."

"Don't worry," Emmett said, finishing off the last of the flames. "I'll take care of the lightning; you just take care of your pop. By the way," – he folded the hose back onto the extinguisher – "what happened today? Did he ask her out?"

Complete and utter terror befell Emma at his words. Her father was simply curious to know if the previous night's endeavor had produced the desired results, but her body was screaming at the thought of shattering his hopes. And it didn't help that Marty was answering in the affirmative, albeit hesitantly.

He had no idea. He hadn't stopped the conversation at the café because he didn't hear it, and it was never brought up on their way back due to their bickering over his skateboarding stunt.

Damn it.

"What did she say?"

This isn't going to be pretty.

Emma shut her eyes, exhaling soundly. "Marty, wait. He didn't—"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It might as well have been the undertaker himself when Doc announced that it was Marty's mother. Whatever the feeling was that came over her in that moment, it was nothing if not ominous.

Now this definitely isn't going to be pretty.

Reflexively helping to cover the DeLorean at her dad's urging, she grabbed Marty's arm, and he led her toward the door, not fully registering the rapid rise of dread in her eyes.

"Marty, wait a minute," she hissed. "I need to t– no, don't open the door yet!"

Her plea fell on deaf ears. Emma's hands dropped from Marty's arm as he reached for his neck uncomfortably, both of them speechless as Doc ushered in an equally speechless Lorraine. She was now cursing the chivalry of the fifties; had her actual father been there, he would have had his shoulder against the door holding the doorknob while he yelled for her to get the power drill and a two-by-four.

But as it was, Lorraine was in front of them, debating through her stammering what to call Marty and tossing Emma a shy, throwaway smile. Through the embarrassing admission of following them to the lab and awkwardly introducing Doc, Emma picked at the skin of one of her fingernails at her side. It wasn't until Doc edged away and Lorraine shuffled closer that Emma was overcome with protectiveness. Still, with great determination, she forced herself to take a step backward rather than launch herself in front of Marty.

As it so happened, Marty took a step backward as well, trying to keep as much distance between him and Lorraine as possible. But, even in speaking nervously to her shoes, Lorraine inched closer, speaking in broken phrases until her motive was finally made known.

Ask me to the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance on Saturday.

At first, Marty's agape mouth would seem to imply that he thought that, despite having been asked by George, she had turned him down, or perhaps she planned to once securing a date with the person she really wanted to go with. And maybe that's what he was thinking.

But it was nothing compared to what he must be thinking when Lorraine confirmed that nobody had asked her yet. Eyes darting from her to Doc and back to Lorraine, Emma swallowed as Marty tried to keep his composure.

How in the hell was this happening?

"What about…What about George?"

"George McFly?" Lorraine giggled, her knowing smile finding Emma over Marty's shoulder. "He's going with Emma! Didn't she tell you?"

Marty froze, staring at Lorraine in disbelief. The briefest flicker of hurt crossed his face, and Emma shrunk as he looked back at her. His standoffish casualness faltered then; at the stab of pain in his chest, he wrenched his jaw shut, turned to Lorraine, and gave a clipped "no" in response.

"Well, I know he's excited," Lorraine said. "And Emma practically leapt from the booth."

Emma shook her head, mustering up a broken laugh when Marty looked at her again. "That's not what happened."

"It was so cute, but," – Lorraine set her smoldering, sweet eyes on Marty again, sauntering him and Emma backwards into Doc – "I think a man should be strong so he can stand up for himself and protect the woman he loves."

Marty leaned against Doc, casting Emma another withering look. What a goddamned mess.

He rubbed the back of his neck again, and Lorraine batted her eyelashes at his lack of response, prompting him in her confusion, "Don't you?"

Marty gave a breathless laugh. "Yeah."

Lorraine dipped her coloring cheeks to the floor. "So, you'll ask me then?"

Emma, having also found the floor fascinating recently, slowly looked up at Marty. He didn't acknowledge it, instead letting her gaze burn into him in hopes that it might assuage the sting of the other blows he had just received.

And now, it was time for the K.O.

Watching his mouth get ready to form the words, Emma went from apologetic to livid. Given the opportunity to turn her down and put her in her place, and he's actually going to ask her?

Like hell.

"Marty, you have somewhere to be Saturday night," she insisted, taking his arm.

He shook her off immediately with a scowl. "Not till after the dance, I don't."

"Marty –"

"Enough, Em."

Emma's mouth snapped shut, brow darkening as anger began to wrack her entire body. Meeting her disdainful silence and raising her an asking-someone-else-out, Marty looked up at his mother, compelling himself in vain to never, ever remember this moment.

It came out with a bored sigh, the effort to mentally put spaces between his words evident.

"Will you go to the dance with me?"

And Lorraine still beamed.

"Yes! Oh, I can't wait," Lorraine grinned as she spun toward the door. "I have the perfect dress picked out."

"Great."

Lorraine didn't seem to trust herself not to shoot off to cloud nine at that point. She subconsciously touched her hair and flattened the waist of her cardigan, cheeks still pink as she opened the door.

"Well, I'll see you in school tomorrow, Marty. Bye."

Emma stared at Lorraine's perfect smile as Marty waved with his lips in a hard line. Finally, Lorraine left, the door shutting softly behind her whilst Emma dug her teeth into her bottom lip. Fuming to the point of almost visibly shaking, she turned on her heel, storming away from Emmett and Marty toward the side exit.

Doc stood up from the DeLorean when they heard the other door open. He and Marty exchanged looks as Emma's skirt disappeared out the door, the harsh clicks of her shoes following her up the brick pathway.

"What's wrong with her?" Doc asked, regarding Marty cautiously as the kid looked over his shoulder, a deep frown on his face.

"That's what I want to know," he growled lowly.

Marty headed out the side door and started up the slope of the lawn with long, stealthy strides. Up ahead, Emma pushed the front door open with a loud bang, cracking the molding on the wall behind it. Hearing Marty catching up to her, she whirled through the foyer, up the staircase, and down the hallway to her room. She grabbed the door and threw it shut, but it suddenly stopped mid-swing; Marty stiff-armed it just before it slammed in his face. He opened it with a glare.

"What the hell, Em?"

She crossed her arms over herself and faced the window. "I cannot believe you are taking your mother to the dance," she practically spat. Her tone made Marty's eyes spark dangerously.

"I can't exactly pair her off with my dad when you're going to the dance with him." He let out a derisive huff. "What were you thinking? You couldn't have just said no? Or that you were going with me?"

"I would have if you hadn't told everyone we were siblings."

"That's not the point!" he shouted. "You didn't even tell me about it on the way over here!"

"You could have turned her down just now, you know!"

Marty scoffed. "Clearly digging my grave deeper doesn't concern you. I'm not going to exist by the end of the week because of you."

Emma stopped. Marty felt the fury in his face wane slightly at what he'd said, and her nostrils flared when she met his eyes. It was coming. He felt it. And she wasn't going to be able to stop it.

"Because of me?" she snarled quietly, turning to him. "I didn't push your dad out of the way of your grandfather's car."

"Well excuse me if I don't apologize for wanting to save my dad."

Emma opened her mouth but paused, pursing her lips and shifting her scornful eyes.

Fine. She wasn't about to bring hypocrisy into this.

"How could you do this to me, Em? How am I going to come back from this?"

"I don't know!"

"It's bad enough I've got to ward off my own mother! But now my dad is going in the opposite direction, too. And, yes, it's because of you!"

"If you're going to blame me for all this, then maybe you shouldn't have dragged me into the damn DeLorean, Marty," she said. "You should have left me on the ground to die, too."

The words exploded between them, their shrapnel devastating. Marty stiffened. Silence thundered in their ears.

Emma seethed, but the dip of her brow became less severe as her stomach quaked, regret kindling within it. She felt a sickening punch at the unexpected quaver in Marty's voice.

"He was already dead, Em," he said quietly, chest heaving. He swallowed, inclining his head to her. "You know that."

"No, I don't," she snapped, feeling her vision redden again. "You didn't check for a pulse or see if he was breathing –"

"I was trying to save our asses!"

"We still could have done something!"

Marty eyed her. The desperation that tore through her voice, of wanting to know that having done anything would have saved him, made her breathless panting teary.

"It doesn't even matter now! Even if I make it back to 1985 – and let's be honest," she laughed sardonically, "that's a pretty big damn 'if' – my dad will be dead, you won't exist, and I won't have anything. I might as well just stay here."

Marty stared at her as she looked back out the window, startled to see her considering her own words.

"Em, no. That man is not your father," he said, pointing towards the garage. "You said so yourself! He has no feelings for you as his daughter. He doesn't share any memories with you. Jesus, Em, he doesn't even know the first thing about you!"

She shook her head, trying to ward off the painful truth of his words.

"But he's still alive."

He could not believe what he was hearing.

"What are you going to do? Go down there, tell him you're his daughter, and live happily ever after? It doesn't work like that, Em."

"Then how does it work, Marty?"

"The hell if I know! Doc's the one who invented the damn thing! Ask him!"

"So now it's his fault, too?"

"If he hadn't saw fit to piss off goddamn terrorists, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

Emma sneered at him, her heart aching with hate. She shook her head at him.

"You aren't even worth existing."

Marty's rage was snagged by the bitter resentment in her voice. Almost immediately, he nodded resolutely, heading out the door. Enough was enough.

"Fine," he said coldly. "But I hope I still exist when you realize that you're going to be just as alone here as you would be back in 1985."

Emma folded her arms over herself again, wanting to erupt and shout after him as he trudged away down the staircase. Instead, tears finally spilled from her eyes.

She retreated back into the bedroom and shut the door, sinking to the floor against it. She tried desperately to sort out who was really at fault for everything, but it all came down to Emmett Brown hanging a clock. And he slipped because the porcelain on the toilet was wet. Because he forgot to turn the fan on when he showered. Because he was preoccupied with working out some problem with that crazy mind-reading tower. Because he wanted to make his mark in science.

Because.

Because, because, because…

Be cause.

What would be the cause of it all in the end – when she had sat there an eternity and still had no answer as to why this had all happened?

Everything that had ever happened in the history of the universe was influenced by something that came before it; some way, somehow. She should have found some way to turn the situation around in the café. She could have told George no or just screamed it. She could have fought Betty to let go of her arm so she could hide in the bathroom. She could have pulled George aside after their misunderstanding and explained that she was not going to any dance with him ever. She could have sprayed sandpaper glue at Lorraine when she came into the lab and cornered Marty.

Truth is, she and Marty had just had a violent argument that was probably in some way loosely related to the construction of Hadrian's Wall or the invention of peanut butter.

And despite desperately wanting to hollow out a jar as fast as she could to keep the overwhelming emotions from rising in her throat, Emma's face dropped to her knees, and the dam finally broke.