Chapter 9
Monday, January 6th, 1986
Hill Valley
8: 10 P. M.
Marty looked around cautiously before proceeding on his way. He and Doc had seen some tough gangs in this area, and Marty didn't want to return home with a rearranged face. Satisfied none of them were around right then, he walked down the street to the closed drug store to make some "purchases". He needed food, and Doc needed some penlight batteries. Doc was busy working on the DeLorean, so he had entrusted Marty with the job.
Marty smiled as he broke in and got the stuff. The last few days living with Doc had been bliss. He had never expected things to be like this ever again, but they were. Doc was the best father a kid could ask for. He did everything he could to keep Marty safe and happy. Sure he was a little overprotective at times, but who cared? He knew when to back off and when to come close. They had even created a blood-link together 2 days ago. Doc wanted to make sure he could come to Marty's aid whenever he needed to. The teen had been a little reluctant to do it at first, but was glad he had. There was something very comforting in feeling Doc's heartbeat in his chest.
He finished gathering up all their stuff and left, whistling happily. He couldn't wait to get back home and help Doc with the DeLorean. The faster they got it done, the quicker they could leave this hell. He tucked what he could under his arm and started on his way back to home.
Only to hear, "Hey! There he is!"
He whipped around to see Biff's goons heading toward him, guns drawn. Terrified, he took off down the street, dropping all the stuff. Luckily he had bought some liquid soap for the bathroom. The cheap container burst open as it hit the pavement, creating a gooey puddle. 2 of the goons slipped and fell. The third, 3-D, managed to avoid it and continued chasing the teen.
Marty zig-zagged, ducked down alleyways, and tried to blend into crowds, hoping desperately to get rid of the goon. Unfortunately, the geekiest-looking of Biff's gang was also the smartest. He kept easily on Marty's trail, finally cornering him in an alley. He grinned smugly. "Boy, are Match and Skinhead gonna be jealous. Biff promised Charlene to the guy who found you."
"You're not taking me back," Marty growled, trying to sound tough. At the same time he sent a mental alert to Doc. "I'm never going back."
3-D lifted his gun. "The boss never wanted you back," he said coldly. "He wanted you dead." He fired in the moment it took Marty to absorb that information.
The bullet ripped through Marty's stomach, causing him immense pain. Knocked over by the force, the teen was helpless to do anything as 3-D shot up twice more, once in the chest and once in the gut. He finished off with a kick for good measure. "Shoulda watched your back better, you little SOB. Thanks for helping me win Charlene." Snorting, he walked back to his fallen gang-mates.
Marty lay on the street, completely stunned for a moment. Then sharp, throbbing pains reminded him he was seriously hurt. He tried to get to his feet, but the pain was too much. He fell to his knees and coughed. A mouthful of blood came up. He must have shot me in the lung, Marty realized in horror. He looked down to see his t-shirt and jeans getting dyed red from the bullet wounds. The sight made him gag. He vomited weakly, bringing up more blood than vomit. How the hell could this happen? I'm supposed to be happy now. I'm supposed to be free. I'm not supposed to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want--
"Shh."
Marty jerked his head around. Doc was kneeling over him, a look of intense sadness on his face. "Doc? Doc, help. . . ."
"Hush." As gently as possible, Doc lifted his adopted son's body. He very gently took off Marty's shirt, examining the wounds. They were definitely mortal. He felt tears well up in his eyes as Marty coughed up more blood. He's drowning in his own life fluid. He tenderly brought Marty's face up to look into his own. His brown eyes burned into the teen's blue ones. "What happened, Marty? Tell me everything."
Hypnotically strengthened, Marty related the entire incident. Doc lost control briefly as he listened. Why did everyone he love have to suffer? Why did he have to lose to death everyone he cared about. First Josie, then Einy, now --
"No."
"What?" Marty whispered, feeling nauseous again.
"They're not taking you away from me. Not like they took Einy and Josie. They're not doing it again," Doc whispered, his eyes intense and glowing. He tore open his wrist with his fangs and pressed his bleeding wounds to Marty's.
"Doc? What the hell are you doing? Shouldn't you be feeding me that?"
"I can't. That cure won't work anymore. If you were internally bruised, I might have been able to save you in that manner. But gunshot wounds. . . . Infecting you is the only way to keep you alive." He lifted his wrist and sniffed the teen. Already he could smell the distinct vampire tinge in Marty's fast food. He very gently picked up his bleeding body and flew him back home. Marty clung to him the entire way, scared as hell.
Doc put him in bed the minute they got home. He grabbed some antibiotics from the store and fed them to Marty after cleaning out his wounds. Marty complained of being thirsty, but Doc was unsure if it would be wise to give him water. Finally, he decided to feed Marty some of his blood, both to relieve the teen's thirst and help heal his wounds. Compared to two days ago, Marty drank greedily. The wounds slowly began to close. Amazing, it works that fast.
Promptly after finishing, Marty turned green. "Oh, shit," he moaned, trying to get up. Doc fetched a bucket and aided him in throwing up. "I feel worse than before."
"I'm sorry, Marty. The sickness is part of the change. Look into my eyes, I'll make you go to sleep."
"Thanks a lot, Doc." He willingly submitted himself to Doc's hypnotic powers, falling asleep quickly. For the next six hours, Marty drifted in and out of consciousness, his body racked with pain. Doc did all he could to keep him as comfortable as possible, making sure he remained asleep through most of the disease's course.
Finally, the moment came when Marty began to sink into the coma. Doc patted the teen's back as his breathing and heartbeat slowed to almost stopped. The scientist couldn't help but be a little relieved when it was all over and Marty was safely comatose. Now I know how Josephine felt when she was caring for me.
He covered Marty gently with a blanket, fed Edison, and settled down to think. His thoughts immediately turned to revenge on the bastards that had nearly killed Marty. His first impulse was to go straight to Biff's hotel and sink his fangs into his neck. But he forced himself to remain with Marty. Hold yourself in check, Emmett. Wait until Marty wakes up. The revenge will be even sweeter then. If you must bite someone, go for 3-D.
Tuesday, January 7th, 1986
Hill Valley
3: 46 P. M.
3-D headed for his permanent room in the Pleasure Paradise with a huge smile on his face. Charlene had been fabulous. She knew just how to please a man. Match and Skinhead weren't talking to him, but that was okay. They'd be friends again soon enough. In the meantime, a stiff drink and some porno would be enough company for him.
He opened the door of his room, turned on the light--
And was greeted by the sight of Doc, dressed in the traditional black, sitting on his couch.
3-D nearly screamed in shocked terror. "What the -- how the hell did -- aren't you supposed to be--" he stammered, backing up against the door.
"I flew in, you shot Marty, and no, I'm not," Doc said cooly, rising. His eyes glowed with fire, making 3-D gulp. "I don't like it when my friends are nearly killed. Especially when the would-be murderer is a member of his posse."
3-D reached for a weapon, but Doc was too fast for him. He had him pinned to the wall in seconds. "Don't even think of fighting back," he growled, fully vamped. "In the interest in humanity, I won't kill you. But I'll have my revenge. Whether you get seriously hurt while I have it or not is up to you."
The gang member knew when not to fight back. Being threatened by an enraged vampire was definitely one of those times. Shaking, he went limp. Doc greedily tore his throat and lapped the blood, causing 3-D to faint from shock. Doc drank him for a little while, then left him outside to be found by the maid or whoever. He gave the unconscious man a hard kick. "Let that be a lesson to you. DON'T MESS WITH MY FAMILY."
Thursday, January 9th, 1986
Hill Valley
8: 14 P. M.
Marty cracked open an eye. There was a bright, painful light nearby, so he shut it again. He moaned softly and attempted to stretch his aching muscles. His mouth felt cottony and dry, like he'd been asleep for a long time. Everything, even his eyelashes, felt like they were made of lead. It took all of what little energy he had to force his mouth to say the word, "Doc?"
"Welcome back, Marty." A strange, alluring scent reached the teen's nose. He sniffed, wondering what it was and where it was coming from. "How are you?"
"I feel paralyzed," Marty admitted slowly. "My muscles don't want to work."
"I'm not surprised. It's been three days, two minutes, and 40 seconds since you sank into coma."
Three whole days? Wow. "I'm thirsty. Can I have a drink?"
"I expected that too." The wonderful smell came closer. Some of the heaviness evaporated from Marty's limbs. His mouth watered as he felt a bottle being placed against his lips. "Drink up."
The teen eagerly did so, grabbing the bottle and downing it in one long, satisfying swallow. The rich taste of freshly-heated blood cascaded down his throat, filling his empty stomach. Energy flooded his tired muscles, awakening his senses. Eager for more blood to soothe his thirst, he sat up and opened his eyes.
And immediately had to close them again.
Doc rubbed his back, allowing Marty to orient himself to the new sensations he was experiencing. "It's okay, Marty, it's okay. I felt the same way when I first woke up. At least you don't have to dig your way out of a grave."
"What the hell is happening to me, Doc?" Marty mumbled, his face buried in his hands.
"Vampire senses. Just let the sensations wash over you, Marty. Don't try to shut them out. Wait a few minutes, then look up again."
Slowly, Marty lifted his head. He blinked, astonished. The house seemed -- brighter, somehow. Normally, when the lights were off, it was nearly impossible for him to see. But now he could see everything perfectly. He looked around, taking it all in. He noticed new details he had never seen before. Completely enthralled, he got up slowly and went to the window. The streets literally glowed with life.
And the sounds! The throb of the Town Square sounded impossibly close, and much louder. He could hear every breath, every heartbeat, every footstep of anyone nearby. The mere clatter of a can on the sidewalk sounded like an earthquake. It was simply incredible.
Inhaling deeply, Marty shut his eyes and savored the different scents. There was a broccoli nearby, and a chocolate bar, and a bottle of Dom Pierre, like Biff drank on special occasions. . . .
He turned to look at Doc. "Hey, you weren't a boozer by any chance, were you Doc?"
Doc found the question amusing. "Are you kidding? I couldn't drink at all. I'd lose control after just one sip and fall down in a stupor. Why do you ask?"
"You smell like alcohol. Like one of those fancy wines Biff keeps around."
Doc blinked, puzzled. "Huh. No wonder I never recognized my own scent." Then his eyes glowed evilly. "Speaking of Biff, you want to find out what he smells -- and tastes like? Probably horse manure, but who cares."
Marty nodded, his own eyes beginning to glow brilliant blue. "Dammit, what I wouldn't give to sink my fangs into that bastard," he growled, the aforementioned dental work extending. "Give back even a fraction of what he gave me."
"Then why don't we?" Doc whispered, fully vamped himself. "As long as we avoid the other guests and Biff's gang, we're perfectly safe. We'll get him late at night and each have a nice, long drink. We'll leave him alive, though, so everyone else who's got a grudge against him can get their revenge as well." He smiled. "I'm nothing if not fair."
"I get dibs," Marty growled back, also smiling. "And a chance to fling him around a little."
"I wouldn't have it any other way." Doc shook hands with Marty. "Excuse the cliche -- but it's payback time!"
Friday, January 10th
1: 00 A. M.
Biff Tannen finally decided that he had insomnia and got up. Despite all evidence to the contrary, such as his gruff, disinterested manner, he was nervous. Was Dr. Brown still alive? Did he know his secret? A crazy, wild-eyed scientist, the old man had said back in 1955. Dr. Brown certainly fit that bill. And the fact he'd helped George McFly made him doubly dangerous. Biff couldn't rest easy until he was sure the bastard was dead.
He wandered into the living room and headed for the bar. He pulled out a bottle of Scotch, poured himself two fingers, and gulped it down. He repeated the process a few times before becoming lost in thought.
Marty was bothering him too. That kid had been acting very strangely lately. In October, he had come home early for some reason, behaving completely out of character. For some reason, he seemed shocked to learn things he had known for 12 years! And later, when he had revealed he knew about Gray's Sports Almanac. . . . Well, he wasn't sure if that was real or not. The whole thing had ended with some sort of looney dream. Although whey he would hallucinate a flying DeLorean was beyond him.
He gulped down some more Scotch - then heard a noise behind him. He smiled in a loathsome way. "Charlene, baby?" he asked, turning around.
There stood a rather smug-looking Marty McFly.
Biff jerked back, stumbling into the bar. Has Lorraine been mixing these again? "What the hell are you doing here?!" he roared. "You're supposed to be dead!"
"It's time to settle an old score, Biff," Marty said, moving forward a few steps.
"3-D said he shot you! 3 times! You couldn't have found a doctor in time you filthy little son-of-a-b*tch! And how'd you get past my security downstairs?"
"You could say I found a doctor," Marty replied calmly, still advancing. "And I didn't come from downstairs."
"There's no upstairs," Biff pointed out.
"Very good. You get a cookie."
"Whaddya do, arrive in a flying DeLorean like last time?" Biff asked, tossing the glass at Marty's head.
Marty ducked and paused, confused. "What?"
Biff nodded, pleased to see he'd briefly gained the upper hand. "Yeah, a flying DeLorean," he said, looking for a way to get to his office. He had a gun in the drawer, maybe this time he could actually succeed in getting this loser out of his life. "Smacked me right in the kisser. You know about that book too, huh? And the manure thing. Damn it, kid, how'd you find out?"
"I haven't a clue what the hell you're talking about," Marty admitted, looking at him. "You're not hopped up, are you Biff?"
"What if I am?" Biff challenged.
"Nothing." Marty smiled again, vamping as he did so. "I just didn't expect my first real meal to be druggie blood."
Biff went dead white, eyes bulging. "You -- you--" he mouthed, gasping like a dead fish. Marty simply ran a tongue over his fangs and moved in for the kill. Biff bolted to his office, knowing it was now or never time. Marty leapt up above the doorway, growling. Biff searched for something to distract him, but the teen was on him in a second. Hissing, "This is for every second of time we had to spend together," he chomped down. Biff fainted from shock. Marty happily drank his blood -- then abruptly made a face and spit it out. "Yuck! Auggh! Disgusting!"
"Marty?" Doc's voice called. "Are you all right?"
"He tastes like shit," Marty yelled back, tossing the limp tyrant over to one side. "My mouth tastes like I just drank out of a toilet."
Doc entered the room, looking annoyed. "Damn. I was hoping we'd catch him on a clean night. I suppose we'll have to settle for a less refined form of revenge." He walked over to Biff, who was coming to. "Hello, Tannen."
Biff yelped. "You too?! Damn it, I knew you were in cahoots! Where is it?"
"What?"
"The DeLorean, you butt-head! I saw it! Where the hell did you get a flying DeLorean?! And how the hell do you know about my book?!"
Doc looked at Marty. "What have you been telling him?" he asked sternly.
"Nothing, he laid that load on me the minute I came in."
Doc turned back to Biff, who was trying to crawl away. Doc grabbed him by his cheap-looking bathrobe and towed him back. "I want to hear more about this flying DeLorean," he growled, vamping as he spoke.
"You smacked me in the jaw with the door, you @**hole! What, you don't remember that? It was only a few months ago! This little shit--" Doc snarled warningly "--comes home, acts like he doesn't even remember the last 17 years of his life, tells me he knows all about Gray's Almanac, then escapes by jumping on your car!" Biff shook his head. "I thought I was imagining all of that crap, but now you two showing up--"
Doc looked as confused as Marty. "I haven't a clue as to what you're talking about. And, frankly, I don't care." He grabbed Biff in a death grip and slammed him to the floor. "I'm going to get you back for every day I had to spend in that mental institution. Come along, Marty, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Make the most of it."
Marty gladly did so, and they tossed Biff around like he was a rag doll. The tyrant tried to fight back, but he was completely helpless against a pair of vampires with deep grudges against him. Eventually he followed 3-D's example and let them abuse him. Once they had got it out of their systems, they hypnotized Biff into forgetting and dumped him in the hot tub. "Whoa, I thought we would have hurt him worse," Marty shrugged, noting the lack of bruises on Biff's body.
"It's not the quantity of the pain he experienced, it's the quality. We have refunded the agony that he had visited upon us. That's all that matters." Doc checked his watch. "We have to get home. We have to get everything important to us out of the house. It's likely Biff might remember part of this night, so we'll have to exchange residences."
"Huh?"
"Move," Doc clarified. "Out of my old house. The old mine will serve as a temporary shelter until--"
"What the hell are you doing here, you little SOB? And who's your friend?"
The pair turned to see Lorraine, glaring at them. She was weaving, obviously very drunk. "Why the hell did you come back? Begging me to take you back? Go to hell, you little bastard."
Marty flashed his fangs at her. "I don't need you anymore."
Lorraine shrieked in surprised terror and fled back into the bedroom. Marty started to go after her, but Doc held him back. "No, Marty. Let her be. She suffers enough at Biff's hands. We got what we wanted."
Marty looked at the door, then at Biff. His anger drained. "You're right. I don't need her anymore, like I said. C'mon, let's go pick up Edison and our stuff."
