Chapter 6
Monday, April 21st, 1986
Hill Valley
3: 47 A. M.
"Screw it," Doc mumbled, climbing out of bed. "It's hopeless. I might as well do something productive with my time instead of trying to get to sleep. My brain just refuses to produce the right chemicals." Sighing, he stood up and headed for the kitchen table. He wasn't sure what he would do, but it would be preferable to tossing and turning.
He collapsed into a chair and put his head on his arms. He felt like shit. The sleeping pills Dr. Caldwell had prescribed for him weren't working at all, and neither was the sleep-inducer. No matter what he tried, that damn nightmare kept plaguing him. Why? he wondered, a few tears trickling down his nose. Why me and why now? Am I going insane? Maybe I am. I can't find any rational explanation for my behavior. This dream possibly relates to the fact Marty's been kidnaped, but why is it so violent? Why would I dream of my best friend -- being coldly and ruthlessly murdered? And, of course, those fits haven't abated at all. Instead they've become worse. It's like I'm being tortured by someone and I can't fight back. I'm totally helpless whenever one of them comes over me. I don't even feel like myself. It's as if I'm trapped in someone else's life. Damn it, I just want it all to stop. I want it all to stop. Why me, why --
-- me? Why the hell did he have to choose me? Damn it, I wish I could do something, anything, Marty thought as he watched Jack ready a table. He had been informed that he had outlived his usefulness. "And I'm actually going to miss this, Martin," Jack said as he set up the restraints. "You were my greatest conquest. There will be no one to top you." He snapped and unsnapped a restraint a few times. "I think I'll send you off with a bang. Give me a minute and I'll think of a torture suitable."
"No! No, please, Dr. Brown," Marty pleaded, a pathetic mess of cuts and bruises.
Jack strolled over and punched him in the solar plexus. "Shut up," he said pleasantly. "Just for that little outburst, two tortures." He wandered away, thinking hard. Marty closed his eyes and cried silently. Why me? This is hell, pure and simple. Why did he have to be Doc's brother? Why? Damn it, why can't it all end? Why can't he just kill me. I want it to stop, I want it to stop--
I want it to stop.
Doc looked up in surprise. Just for a moment there, he thought he had heard another voice, echoing his sentiment. He looked around, but he was alone. The only other person in the house was asleep. That meant the voice had come from inside his head. Great. I am insane. I'll have to make a psychiatric appointment tomorrow. I hate psychiatrists, but I have no choice. Marty's kidnaping and these -- these -- these torments are too much for one mind to handle. If only I knew the cause!
Marty blinked. Had he just heard someone agree with his thought? Perfect. Now I'm hearing voices. You've finally snapped, McFly. Come on, Jack, put me out of my misery.
Doc slumped back against the chair. He thought of trying the sleep-inducer on himself again, but he had a feeling it wouldn't work. That dream would come back, no matter what he did. That horrible, horrible nightmare. . . .
But is it really just a dream?
Doc blinked. What a strange thought. Where had it come from? Probably sleep deprivation, he decided. I know that dreams often reflect the state of the person awake. My dreams must be reflecting some sort of. . . .
The fits too. Something's wrong. Those are too close to being real. It's like I'm feeling someone else's pain. Like, during those moments, I am another person.
But it doesn't make sense! Telepathy in the non-mechanically assisted sense is impossible! And the ability to literally feel what another is feeling is even more ludicrous. The stress is impairing my thinking. Clear your head, Emmett. . . .
It does make sense. In some twisted way, it all makes sense. I'm being warned. Something appalling is happening to Marty, and some gut instinct is trying to get me to help him, by tormenting me with excruciating fits and nightmares about his death. It's horrible how I --
-- just can't get out of here. He won't kill me ever, 'cause that would be letting me go. Please, just kill me and let me go.
The twisted scientist grinned. "How interesting. I haven't tried this one before." He walked back over to Marty and pulled him roughly to his feet. Chuckling coldly, he started to unbutton his pants.
"You make me do that and I'll bite it off," Marty snarled, dredging up the last of the fight in him.
Jack glared at him. "You dare refuse me, you little piece of fag shit?" he said, grabbing him by the throat. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this." He started squeezing as hard as he could. Marty clawed at his hands, but couldn't pry them off. Jack was too strong, and he was too weak. . . . His chest started to contract from lack of air, and the world started to go blurry.
Seeing Marty could barely move now, Jack took the opportunity to kick him where it hurt the worst. Tears trickled out of the teen's eyes as he choked harder. Stop. . . please stop. . . I want to die, but not like this--
Doc fell off his chair, unable to breathe, his throat feeling like it was being crushed. Frightened, he tried to choke out a cry for help, but he had no air in his lungs to do it. Even worse, a moment later he felt what amounted to a massive blow to the groin. His mouth opened in a silent scream as the world grew dark. Damn it, speak of the devil. . . . Stop, I beg you, stop. . . . Please, I don't want to die--
Damn it, STOP TORTURING ME!
Jack finally let Marty go as he was on the verge on unconsciousness. "Ah, poor little Martin," he mocked. "I thought you might be into sado-masochism."
Doc looked up, rubbing his throat. He could have sworn he heard that voice in his head, repeating him again. And now it was accompanied by a colder, more sinister one. One that raised the hair on the back of his neck. I'm insane. Why else would I hear Jack's voice inside my head?
Marty blinked, his throat aching. For some reason, he thought he had heard the friendly voice again. Maybe I was dying. But that sure sounded like Doc.
Jack forced Marty onto his knees, but noticed the kid was still wavering. "Damn, you can't do a proper job now. I guess I'll have to give you a moment." He kicked Marty in the pit of the stomach and walked away, looking pissed. Marty crawled over to the corner, barely noticing the chains scraping his arms. Let me hear Doc's voice again. Please. I just want to hear his voice again.
Doc stared off into space, shocked. Those were Marty's and Jack's voices he was hearing inside his head! Jack was torturing Marty, killing Marty. And the teen was pleading to hear his voice again. Should he answer, even if it was an imaginary voice? Marty?
Marty looked up just the slightest. Doc?
Marty, is it really you? Or am I just imagining things? No, don't answer me, I know the answer already. I must be imagining things. I have a very sick imagination.
Doc, Doc, it's so great to hear your voice again. Especially in this hell. This bastard kidnaped me and he's been torturing me for -- damn, I don't know how long. Just a minute ago he choked me nearly to death. Why he didn't just get it over with, I don't know.
Wait. . . . He just tried to kill you? By strangling you? Doc's hand was still on his throat.
Yeah. I'm still dizzy. Marty let his head flop back down. Wish I could see you in my he--
Abruptly each party received a very clear mental picture of the other. Doc gasped as he saw Marty's state. "Oh my God, it's just like my nightmares."
Marty reacted similarly as he looked at Doc, gazing off into space as he focused on the picture in his head. It looked like he, too, had just been strangled. And judging from the dark circles under his eyes, he hadn't slept in a long time. Doc? Holy shit, is it -- the real you?
Yes. Great Scott, I didn't know we could communicate telepathically. Don't let this be a dream. . . .
Trust me, Doc, this is as far from a dream as you can get, Marty thought back. This is so weird. . . . But shit, I'm so glad we can. Doc, this lunatic has got me imprisoned so he can get back at you for some twisted reason of his own. He's gonna kill me and make everyone think you did it!
Marty, where are you? Doc thought urgently, getting to his feet.
I -- I don't really remember. . . .
Think, Marty. Think! Doc urged. Try to remember anything you may have noticed when you were first brought there.
Marty tried, shutting his eyes tightly. It's not coming, Doc. He's gonna come back any minute now. Doc, I'm so scared. . . .
Please, Marty, try to remember anything, Doc pleaded with him mentally. I have to save you from that monster. Try your hardest.
Jack wandered back over. "What the f*** is wrong with you now?" An interested look slid over his face. "Have I driven you insane? Not like I haven't done that before." His eyes took in Marty's condition coldly and clinically. "You're all the same. Just little toys for me to play with. Just like Emmett and the animals and the vagrants. All pathetic toys."
Marty ignored him, trying his damndest to remember where he was. Jack slapped him hard. "Pay attention when I'm talking to you, you little good-for-nothing! Or are you fantasizing about your precious 'Doc'? I bet that's it. Only pleasure you can get here, huh?" He leaned down over the teen, who was still trying to ignore him. "I can even take that away." Snake smile back in place, he forced his tongue into Marty's mouth. The teen was too shocked to react at first, then just slumped down, taking it.
Doc wanted to vomit. This is so repugnant. Rather automatically, he chomped down to get the invisible tongue out of his mouth.
Jack yelped and pulled away. "You bit me, you little f***er!"
Marty spat out the blood. Holy shit, I just bit him! Damn, I'm in for it now. . . .
Come on, Marty, think! How's the memory?
Still out. I -- hold on a sec. I'm starting to get something. Marty concentrated hard as Jack went to attend to his wound. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's it. I think I'm in the abandoned warehouse on Johnfield Road!
That's on the other side of town, Doc thought frantically. I'll have to move fast. I'll be there as soon as I can, Marty. Try to delay him!
No need, Doc, Marty whimpered as Jack reappeared, fire in his eyes. He's gonna delay himself. Please, Doc, hurry!
"Emmett?"
Doc snapped out of his trance to find Emily standing beside him. "Emmett, I think it's getting worse. I woke up to go to the bathroom, and you were standing here staring into space. You've been like this for five minutes!"
Doc looked at her, a haunted look in his eyes. "I know where Marty is, Emmy. He's being held prisoner by a maniac. I think it's Jack, I keep hearing his voice."
Emily laid a loving hand on his arm. "Oh, you poor dear. Listen, go back to bed, and I'll set up a psychiatrist's appointment for you."
Doc shook his head violently. "No. Marty's in serious danger, Emily. We have to go get him before Jack kills him. He's already been through too much." He looked at his massive collection of clocks. "We don't have much time, I don't think. Call the McFlys and tell them to get the police and meet us at the warehouse on Johnfield Road. I doubt Jack will surrender without a fight." He felt his limbs start to shake. "God, don't be another fit. I know what's happening to Marty, I don't need to feel it."
Emily took Emmett by the shoulders. "Emmett, stop it! The lack of sleep is making you hallucinate. There's no reason for Jack to be here, let alone kidnap Marty. Go back to bed."
"Emmy, please," he begged, tears running down his face. "I know it sounds insane, but it's the truth. At least call the McFlys and tell them it's a hunch."
"But the police already checked it out."
"Not throughly enough, then. Please, for the sake of my sanity."
"Oh, all right. But I'm also calling your doctor to see if I can get the name of a good shrink." She went over to the phone, shaking her head as dialed. "My poor brother. . .hello, George. It's Emily. I'm sorry for calling in the middle of the night, but it's rather important. No, not news on Marty. It's Emmett. I think he's finally snapped. I just found him staring off into space, and he just said the craziest things to me--"
She suddenly heard the unmistakable grumble of the van's engine. She dropped the phone and ran out to the garage -- only to see the van pull away. She dashed back to the phone, taking note that the closet was open and a few clothes had been yanked out. "George, he just took the van! I think he's going to act on his delusions! And in his condition, he definitely shouldn't be driving! Call the police and meet me on Johnfield Road at the abandoned warehouse, that's where he said Marty was. And hurry!"
Monday, April 21st
4: 00 A. M.
Jack dragged Marty's limp body over to the table, after ferociously beating him. It was a crude form of punishment, but it worked. Marty was gritting his teeth in pain due to a dislocated shoulder as Jack dragged him over. "What's the matter, pet? Don't like it? Tough. I'm going to make this the most torturous experience you've ever had." He forced Marty onto the table and clamped him down. He slammed him in the stomach a few times, then pulled out a knife and ran the tip over any exposed flesh, drawing thin red lines on the skin. He glanced down at the blade. "Damn. Too dull to cause any real pain. I'm sure you can wait a moment." He walked over into the dark part of the room and began sharpening his knife.
Marty lay limp, then managed a weak pull on his restraints. He cried out in pain as he realized these were burred as well. He glanced back at Jack, then pulled harder. This simply had the effect of making his wrists bleed. Finally he gave up and lay there. I don't give a shit anymore. Just let me die. Just let me die.
Jack looked up and smiled at Marty. This was going to be sweet. He would slash open the boy's throat and watch as his life drained out of him. My entire career has led up to this. I may as well make the most of it. He made sure the knife was sharp, then started towards Marty. The teen was perilously close to fainting. Jack raised the knife as the teen lost consciousness.
Only to feel someone grab his arm.
He twisted out of the someone's grip and spun to face him. His eyes went wide when he saw the person's face. "Emmett! How the hell did you know I was here?"
Doc glared into his brother's face, his body running on pure adrenaline. "You monster," he snarled, moving towards his brother. "You demon. How could you do that to a teenager? To someone who should have never met you?"
Jack glared back. He was this close to victory, and he wasn't about to give up now. "You know why. You don't deserve friends. You don't deserve anything. Except a cold and lonely life and a similar death. And, trust me dear brother, that can be easily arranged." He lunged with the knife. Doc dodged and slammed his knee into Jack's stomach. Yelling, he tried again to stab Doc. Doc managed to avoid it, but Jack quickly slugged him in the jaw. Soon the twins were entangled in a fight to the death, kicking, biting, slashing, and hitting.
The noise woke Marty. I didn't know death was this noisy, he thought, opening his eyes. He weakly turned his head to the source -- and gave a small gasp. Doc had gotten here in time! He had never seen such a desperate fight. But who was who? They looked so alike. . . .
Outside, Emily pulled up in her car and jumped out. She dashed into the warehouse, frantically calling, "Emmett? Emmett!?"
To her surprise, the warehouse was empty. Yet she could hear quite a lot of noise from somewhere. . . . "Emmett? Where are you?"
Then she saw it. There was an almost invisible trap door leading to a lower level. The place had been abandoned for so long, nobody had known a basement had existed. She managed to open it with a little effort and headed downstairs. The door at the bottom was half-open, so instead of enter, she peeked in first.
What she saw made her certain she had stepped into a nightmare. Torture instruments littered the entire room. The only light was from a single lightbulb and a few small, thin windows that were above ground level. On a table near the lightbulb lay Marty McFly, staring at a vicious fight moving around the room. Emily went pale as she saw the 2 combatants were her twin brothers. Who's who? When Emmett's in a rage, he can be completely indistinguishable from Jack. Damn, Emmett, why did you have to change? You'd be a lot easier to recognize in your pajamas.
Doc finally forced Jack against the wall. His brother gave him a look of total hate. "You freak of nature. NO one triumphs over me!" He swung a final time with his knife and managed to slice open Doc's shoulder. Doc, blind with rage, didn't even notice. With a strength he didn't know he had, he slammed Jack's head into the cold concrete. Jack looked dazed for a moment, then slumped to the floor, completely out of it.
Doc turned from his unconscious brother back to Marty. The teen looked at him in fear. It had to be Jack, there was no way Doc could have fought against him. "No. Please, no more," he begged as he approached. "Kill me, I'm begging you, kill me."
Doc shook his head, the anger leaving his face. Now he looked near tears. "Marty, it's okay. It's me. It's Doc."
"Can't be. You fooled me before, but you won't again. Slit open my throat, please. . . ."
"No, no Marty," Doc said in barely more than a whisper. "I'm telling the truth. I'm Doc." He very gently touched Marty's cheek and flinched as the boy winced. "I'm so sorry. . . ."
"Crocodile tears," Marty muttered. "I bet you're a master at them."
Doc looked back at him. What could he do to convince the kid? Try smiling, you ass, he thought. Jack could never copy that. His smiles always look demented. He forced himself to remember that he had just saved his friend's life, and a weak smile came to his lips.
Marty's eyes widened. That was definitely a trademark Doc grin. "Doc?" he whispered, barely believing it. The scientist nodded. "Doc! Oh, shit, am I -- ow!" He had tried to get up while still held down by the restraints.
Doc frowned. "Where's the keys? Do you know?" he asked gently.
"He keeps them in his pocket." He looked fearfully over at Jack, as if expecting him to get up and slaughter the both of them.
"I'll get them." Both men jerked at the sounds of Emily's voice. She was pale and shaking. "I can't believe this. It's like some nightmare."
Nightmare. . . .
Doc slumped against the table. It was just like my nightmare. All of it. The only difference was that I was able to stop it. Great Scott, thank God I was. . . .
Emily came back and unlocked the restraints. As he was allowed freedom of movement, Marty immediately threw himself into Doc's arms, sobbing. "Doc. You won't believe what he did to me. . . Made me say things, nearly killed me a couple of times. . . I wanted him to by the end."
"Shh, shh," Doc said, rocking him gently, completely ignoring his own condition. "You're safe now. I won't let anyone else hurt you."
"Don't let go," Marty whimpered, burying his face into Doc's chest.
"I won't." He felt Marty's dislocated shoulder. "When did the bastard do that?"
"Just a few minutes ago. He beat me up for biting him and ruining his-" Marty choked on the word. "Enjoyment."
Doc tenderly patted Marty's hair. This is horrible. My best friend has this done to him, all because of me. . . He'll never be able to look at my face again, without thinking of him. Well, Jack, looks like you succeeded in your objective.
Marty shook his head. "You saved me," he mumbled into Doc's shirt. "You saved my life. I just think it's shitty luck you guys were twins."
Doc blinked. "Marty, I didn't say anything."
Marty looked up. "But I -- heard you," he ended softly, realizing what must have happened. "Weird."
There was noise from upstairs as George, Lorraine, and the police burst into the room. "Emily? Emily, where are you?" George yelled.
"Down here! There's a secret downstairs!" She looked back at the room. "Wait for us though, you don't want to see what's down here."
Doc very carefully shifted Marty into his arms. The teen clung to him with his one usable arm. This is all my fault. This never would have happened if--
Doc, don't think like that, Marty thought back, wincing slightly as Doc touched a tender spot. How the hell could you have known? It's all my fault for thinking he was you. If I'd actually had some common sense, this whole mess--
No, Marty, blaming this on ourselves won't solve anything, or wipe away this incident. Let's return you to your family. He followed Emily up the steps. By the way, was that a padlock I saw in the corner?
Yeah, Jack locked the door with that before transferring me down here.
Lorraine turned dead white the minute she saw her son. "MARTY!" she shrieked. "Oh, God, what happened to you?"
"The sickest man on the planet," Emily said, shivering again. "He's downstairs, unconscious. Emmett knocked him out."
Doc smiled a little for the officers -- then the room began to spin. Everything that had happened in the past half-hour finally caught up to him, as well as a week's worth of sleep. He tried to transfer Marty to someone else, but the kid was gripping his shirt like it was a life line. He slumped against the wall, the world starting to fade out. Marty too was feeling the full extent of his exhaustion. Almost a full week of torture had left him little time for sleep. But he was too scared of being separated from his savior to let anyone else take him. He went limp in Doc's arms. I feel dizzy, they both thought.
Then, both collapsed.