Chapter 6

Sunday, December 22nd, 1985

Hill Valley

8: 10 P. M.

Doc cruised over the outlying neighborhoods of Hill Valley, looking down. Below he could hear the noises of people struggling to stay alive in the hell of their living area. Many of the houses in Lyon Estates had 'For Sale' signs, the occupants being forced out by gangs and Biff. A few brave souls were holding out against the tyrant's advance, but it was a losing battle.

Doc sighed as he flew over one of these houses. Currently occupied by a tough black family, it had once been the McFly homestead. The scientist would be sad to see it go. One of his happiest memories was contained within it's walls. Smiling weakly at it, he flew on.

He passed bullet-ridden houses and smashed-up cars. Chalk outlines seemed to glow in the deepness of the night. Gangs freely roamed the streets, shooting each other over real or imagined slights. Police cars zoomed to the crime scenes and all too frequent murders. No one in the neighborhoods themselves noticed anymore. These were all common occurrences in what had once been a peaceful little town. Doc similarly took little notice of them and kept on.

He finally reached his destination - the abandoned Delgado mine by the old cemetery. Nearby loomed one of Biff's factories, but Doc didn't fear getting caught. No one took any notice of this place any more. It was forgotten by the rest of mankind. Here, he was completely safe.

And so was his time machine.

Doc landed just outside the cave's entrance and walked in. One soft light he had set up glowed in the darkness, but it was all the light he needed. He glanced around and sniffed. No one had been here recently. Satisfied, he plopped himself on the hood of the DeLorean and started to think.

The first few days of vampire existence were a blur in his mind, he recalled. Grief over losing the 3 people he cared for most - Josie, Marty, and Einstein (he considered him a person) - had clouded his perceptions. He had done little more than exist. The one thing that had kept him from self-destruction was Edison. The puppy had helped him cope with his losses and eventually gotten him to start living again. "I owe that dog my life. No one's going to take him away from me like they took my other friends from me."

He looked down at himself as he reflected. His beard was shaved off, and his nails clipped to a far more reasonable and manageable length. He had bathed and burned his blood-stained greens. He wore now his old combinations of Hawaiian shirts and khaki pants, all concealed under a heavy black coat. And he made sure that whenever he fed, he was gentle and neat.

Thinking about feeding made him smile. At first, drinking the blood of other humans had felt like leeching of the general population. Then someone had tried to rape a girl in his yard. He had chased them off and fed off them. In his anger, he had gotten an idea. He could dispense vigilante justice to the lowlifes of Hill Valley using his fangs. And that's just what he had done, becoming the "Dark Angel" all the homeless and innocent worshiped. He felt good to help the community and to get blood without bothering his conscience.

He looked at his reflection in his hood and smiled a little. Things had improved for himself at least, in a minimalist way. He was enjoying himself a bit, and was bolstered by a dream. His dream of time travel. His imprisonment had served one good purpose - he had all the plans for the time machine stored neatly and accurately in his mind. As a result, his building time was going much quicker, whenever he could get the parts he needed. He estimated he might be done as soon as late January of next year. Then he knew he could go back in time and rescue Josephine. He couldn't let her sister consign her to the flames. He'd rescue her or die trying. After, he would sink his fangs into Biff - his eyes glowed at the very thought - and escape into the past.

He got up off the hood and started his work on the car, wiring coils and parts into place. He worked quickly and efficiently, wanting to get back to Edison as soon as possible. As he placed the time circuit control switch into place, the glove compartment fell open. His papers spilled out all over the passenger seat and floor. Doc picked them up and looked at them. His blueprints were there, of course. But there were also 2 other pieces that he cherished more. His letters from Josephine and Marty.

He carefully held Marty's letter, feeling near tears suddenly. It was 30 years old, and the tape was yellow and brittle, but he wouldn't give it up. "God, I miss that kid. Almost as much as I miss Josephine. I wish I could see you again, Marty, be with you again. Damn it, why does Switzerland have to be so far?! I would fly across the ocean in a minute if it was possible. I wanted you to be part of my family, Marty. I wanted a family. . . ."

Doc realized he had begun to weep. He dried his eyes and held the paper close to his heart. "Ich Liebe Dich, Martin," he whispered, remembering that night so long ago. "I love you, kid, and I always will. I swear, I won't let you suffer at Biff's hands any longer."

He replaced the papers carefully and kept working. Christmas was coming up, he thought with a pang. It would be his worst day for loneliness, as he had intended to share it with Josie and Marty. But he would somehow make do with a simple celebration with himself and Edison. And he'd make sure to dream about them the night before. He could always be with them in dreams.

And, if his machine worked, maybe in reality too.

Monday, December 23rd, 1985

Hill Valley

6: 35 P. M.

If there was one thing Marty McFly hated, it was coming home for Christmas.

He looked out the window at the violence-laden streets of Hill Valley and sighed. What had happened to this town? It had once been quiet and happy, if you believed what your mothers and fathers told you. And for Marty, it hadn't been that bad until his father had been shot.

"Biff's what happened," the teen thought bitterly. He hated his stepfather with a passion, often trying to rebel against him. Each time he was punished with blows and some form of torture. It had gotten to the point where the teen had given up and accepted that his lot in life was to be Biff's punching bag. Sometimes he wished he would die so he could escape this hell he called life.

The limo driver pulled up to the gaudy hotel entrance. Marty thanked him and gave him a tip. The guy was one of Biff's employees/spies, but at least he left him pretty much alone. Most of the others had picked up Biff's habit of yelling verbal abuse at him.

He grabbed his suitcases and got out of the limo. Rough types from the clubs and bars looked him over and snorted. A few prostitutes thrust themselves at him. He ignored them and entered the lobby. Charlene was waiting for him as always. She gave him a dirty look. "Back again, huh? I didn't think you'd have the guts to come back."

"I always come back," Marty sighed, heading for the elevator. He didn't feel like talking to one of Biff's many girlfriends.

"You better not cause a mess like you did last time!" Charlene yelled after him. Marty just ignored her and pressed the button for the 27th floor. Alone in the car, he let himself slump to the floor for the ride up. "Don't let him be drunk. He hits me less when he's sober. Just don't let him be drunk."

He reached the penthouse apartment his mother and step-father lived in. He got up and dragged himself to the big double-doors leading inside. Biff, Lorraine, and his lackeys were already in the living room. Lorraine was sitting at the bar, already drunk as hell. Biff was regarding him strangely and suspiciously. Yup, this was home. "Hey," he said, noting with a wince the fresh bruises on Lorraine's face.

Biff glared up at him. He seemed to be preoccupied somehow. "Get your ass down here."

Marty obeyed meekly. The last time he'd disobeyed an order, he had ended up in the hospital. Biff looked into his eyes, scowling. "Gray's Sports Almanac."

Marty blinked. This was new - was it a test? "You buy a publishing place? Why not just call it Biff's? Not like anyone's gonna stop ya." Lower, he added, "You SOB."

Biff nodded like he was satisfied and hit Marty. That was more on par with his normal greetings. He must have heard the 'SOB' comment. He looked at his feet as his step-father rained blows on him. Twice he wanted to fight back, shove him, hurt him, but the thought of dying from a beating stayed his instinct.

Biff finished the beating up quickly. "Get out of my sight, you little son of a b*tch," he snapped, slugging Marty one last time. Then he and his gang left, quietly discussing something. With that greeting over and done with, Marty turned to his mom. She was still at the bar, looking at him, weaving slightly back and forth. Marty managed a smile for her. "Mom," he said.

"Marty," she replied, a bit coldly to his ears. He shrugged it off. When she was drunk, his mother had mood swings. "How are you?"

"Okay, I guess," Marty shrugged, wincing from a blow. "You?"

He got a shrug in return. Marty glanced over at the door Biff had left through. "How long has he been in this mood? I think we'd better both-"

It happened so suddenly, it took Marty a moment to realize it had occurred. Lorraine stumbled to her feet and slapped him full across the face. "You little worm!" she screamed at him. "You bastard child!"

Marty blinked, trying to comprehend what had just happened. "Mom?" he asked, confused.

"Don't 'Mom' me! I wish you'd never been born!" She stood over him, reeking of booze, eyes flashing fury. "You're a piece of shit! You've always been a piece of shit! I wish that Biff would beat you so you'd die! Then I could leave him in peace! Why couldn't you have been like David and Linda!"

Marty was stunned. Although they didn't see each other often, he and his mother usually had an okay relationship. She was his defender and protector against Biff. What had changed? "What did I do, Mom?" he begged, rubbing the forming bruise.

She slapped him again, her rings biting into his skin. "You know damn well what you did!" she shrieked, glaring at him. "Every time you come home, I suffer! I'm sick of it! Why don't you just kill yourself so I don't have to put up with you anymore!?" She grabbed an empty glass and chucked it at Marty's head. "I hate you!"

Marty ducked under the glass and bolted for his room, forgetting his suitcase. "I don't believe it. Mom hates me. . . . Mom hates me. . . ." He collapsed on the bed, her screams at him and the phrase playing over and over again in his mind until he was reduced to tears. "That son of a bitch Biff must have convinced her I was a loser. Damn it, I'd love to sink a knife into his heart. . . . Why can't someone love me anymore? I want to be loved. . . ."

After a few minutes, Marty managed to stop crying. There was a new resolve in his eyes. With his mother against him now, there was no reason to stick around. "No more," he thought, teeth clenched in anger. "No more. No more beatings and abuse. No more putting up with her when she's drunk. No more! I'm leaving!"

He stomped back to the living room, where his suitcase waited for him. Lorraine was back at the bar, gulping down alcohol like there was no tomorrow. He ignored her dirty look, grabbed his suitcase, and headed up the stairs to the doors. He reentered the elevator and punched the button for the lobby violently. "Screw them all," he growled, stomping through the lobby as the elevator landed. Charlene glared at him, but he threw her the finger and exited out onto the streets.

Before he even got off the steps, some prostitutes had approached him, grinning. "Hey, little boy!" one called to him, her hair stringy and filthy. "Wanna have some fun?" Her two friends, heavily made up, giggled. "Or are you not man enough to take it?"

Marty walked past them, only to be accosted by a gang. "Yo, punk!" the leader snapped, flashing a switchblade at him. "Beat it! This is our turf! Don't make me cut you up!"

The teen backed away from these characters, only to bump into some bikers enjoying a drink. They glared at him, upset. "You want your face rearranged, runt?" the burliest one said, pulling out some brass knuckles. Caught between 2 violent people, Marty did what he did best in these situations - bolted.

He ran for a couple of blocks, avoiding drunks and homeless, before stopping to catch his breath. He had never had an encounter with the outside world of Hill Valley before, and was ill-prepared for it. You didn't meet many Switzerland street gangs when you attended a boarding school. "Okay, McFly. First priority, find a place to stay to get away from these freaks."

He walked down the street he found himself on for a minute before discovering an old, dilapidated garage. The windows were all boarded up, and obscene graffiti was sprayed all over the walls. With empty businesses on either side, it was isolated and quiet. "What the hell. It's somewhere nobody will look for me. Hello, new home."

He ducked inside, to be greeted by loud barking. An extremely cute, fluffy dog ran up to him, yapping and circling him suspiciously. Marty smiled. "Hey, boy," he said in a soothing voice. "You live here too, huh?" He looked the dog over. "You look awful good for a stray. Must be a good scavenger or something." He took a step nearer the dog, but it danced away and growled. "Shoulda figured you'd be afraid of people. I don't blame you. I'm afraid of most of them myself."

He dumped his possessions on the bed and examined them. He had 10 changes of clothes, $13. 47 for cash, a few books and schoolbooks, a bag of peanuts from the plane, a pen, and some photographs from B.B. - Before Biff. He ripped open the bag of peanuts and started eating. "Hmm. . . . I'm definitely gonna need some more cash if I wanna live out here. Should I steal some? Nah, I'd get caught and end up back with Biff. I could work for it, but what jobs could I get? What sort of jobs are available in a place like this?"

He finished the peanuts, tossed the bag in the garbage, and-

The garbage?

Marty suddenly looked around the place again. His new home was far too neat to be abandoned. Everything was orderly - even the bed was made! Someone else had claimed this place first.

Marty started to feel afraid. "Who's living here?" he whispered, expecting no answer and getting none. "Jesus Christ, who's home is this? A druggie? A drunk? A biker? A gang-banger? Whoever it is, I bet he's been waiting to take his frustrations out on someone. Damn it, I was supposed to be running away from all that shit. What the hell am I-"

His thought was interrupted by a door opening and the dog barking a greeting. Terrified, he bolted for the safety of a closet. He peeked out through a crack, waiting with bated breath to see who the occupant was.

He nearly laughed with relief when he saw it was an old guy with the mutt. "Whew! Must be some homeless guy. He looks like he's in his 60s. I'm safe for the moment until I can get free and find a new place."

The man suddenly frowned and looked up. He sniffed the air, his brow furrowing. "Who's in here?" he asked gruffly, getting off his knees. He turned his back to the baffled teen, still sniffing. Then he spun around abruptly, looking directly at the closet.

Marty had to stifle a scream. The man's face had changed. Fangs protruded from the upper jaw, and his eyes glowed cinnamon. "Holy shit, what is he?!"

The stranger walked briskly to the closet and threw it open to reveal the cowering teen. Marty held up a shaking hand. "Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me."

The man gawked at him, eyes wide. He seemed to be in complete disbelief. "Marty?" he whispered.

Marty stared back, just as disbelieving. How did this total and unnatural stranger know his name? He buried himself into the clothes, whimpering.

Doc kept gawking. He had sensed a human presence the minute he'd landed. After greeting Edison, he had decided to scare off the intruder. Instead the intruder had scared him. "It can't be Marty. I must be hallucinating."

He reached out and felt the kid's head. He was truly there, real and solid. Feeling joy well up his heart, he knelt by the kid's side, returning to his normal appearance. "Don't be afraid, Marty. I won't hurt you."

"Stay away," Marty said, muffled by the clothes.

"I'm back to normal, now."

Marty snuck a peek. The man looked like he had when he had first come in. The teen remained buried in the clothes. "You're not natural. Stay away."

"I promise I won't harm you, Marty," Doc said, persistent. Marty couldn't reject him. "When did you get back from Switzerland?"

Marty looked up, digging up all the bravado he could find in his crushed ego. "How the hell do you know that stuff about me?! And what the hell are you?!"

Doc remained calm, knowing his friend was probably scared out of his wits. He showed he didn't have any weapons as he spoke. "I know about Switzerland through a friend who heard about it." He felt a pang as he thought about Josie, but pressed on. "I know your name because I knew your father. And I'm a vampire, but I wouldn't dream of drinking your blood."

Marty felt his head start to spin. Maybe he should have stuck it out at the Paradise. This was all too weird. "You knew my dad? And you're a what?"

"Yes, I knew George. He was a very good friend of mine, Marty. I was part of his group to get rid of Biffco. I feel some sort of obligation to you and your siblings because of that. Unfortunately, both your brother and sister refused any of my help because I'm supposed to be insane and dead. But I'm a vampire instead. I take blood from the gang members and drug-pushers who menace the innocent people here." He reached out to touch the nasty bruises on Marty's face. The teen pulled away. "It's all right, I'm not going to harm you."

"Stay away anyway. I don't like being touched." Doc dropped his hand, respecting that. "This is nuts. I must be dreaming."

"That's what I thought when I saw you. Everything's going to be all right." He looked at the unpacked suitcase. "I assume your original intention was to stay here? You're running away?"

Marty nodded. "But I'll go right now, no trouble at all."

"No. I'm not letting Biff or his goons find you. You're staying. I'll set up a bed for you and get you some food." He left Marty still hiding in the pile of clothes and retrieved a cot and blanket. As he set them up, he thought, "Hmm, 2 days until Christmas. I hope I can scrounge up something for Marty within that time. Well, this is going to be a Happy Christmas!"

He turned to find Marty finally having crawled out of the clothes. "Would you mind putting your clothes away?" Marty shook his head silently, looking totally intimidated. "All right, I'll go get some food. And don't worry about anything, Marty. You're in good hands, now." He exited the house and flew off.

Marty nervously put away his clothes and books and sat on the cot. "Calm down. He seems sincere enough, and he is acting nice to you. And he knew Dad. That counts for something. But that - that vampire stuff, and his face. . . . Damn, I'm so confused. . . . Should I try to bribe him to leave me alone? Christmas is coming up, I could get him a gift and exchange it for my freedom. . . . But still, he really seems to want to help me. . . . And he left me alone when I said to. . . . My head's spinning. . . . I'll give it a few days. Maybe - maybe things will be looking up for me. Just maybe."