The Changing Times
Chapter One
Sunday, October 27, 1985
11:56 A.M.
Marty and Jennifer gazed at the Time Train as it lifted up in the air — with Doc and his family in it — made a turn, and burst off through time, blowing a cool breeze through the immediate area.
"Bye, Doc," Marty whispered, forcing tears back.
He looked to Jennifer, and the two walked away from the train tracks.
"Are you going to be okay, Marty," Jennifer asked.
"Uh… yeah, yeah. I'll be fine," He said with more confidence then he really felt.
As they walked to Jennifer's house, Marty was looking down at the ground, hands stuffed in his pockets, thinking. He had always known that Doc would have to leave sooner or later. He would die — a thought Marty shuddered at — or Marty might move away. College was coming up, perhaps even marriage in the near future.
Changes would have been happening either way. There would be more than Marty knew. Much more.
Sunday, November 10, 1985
12:31 P.M.
Over the following two weeks, Marty had done a lot of thinking. First came the attempts to feel good about what had happened, to rationalize the whole thing, give himself a reason to not hurt deep inside. After all, hey, the Doc was happy! He had settled down with the woman he loved and had a couple of kids. It was great for him! Besides, the man had a time machine for crying out loud! He could come see Marty whenever he wanted.
Don't sweat it.
Then the minutes grew to hours, hours grew to days, and Marty's optimism began to steadily swirl down the drain.
Next came the questions. Wait, why wasn't Doc already here? Surely he would've come by now! Come on! He doesn't need to worry about leaving the family home to some horrible fate or something! He could come right back to the second after he left, no harm done! Right? Why hadn't he come back?
He tried a little more reason. [i]Hey, maybe there's something wrong with the time machine! That must be it! Or maybe he's working on something really big…wants it finished so he can show me. But still…he could've just finished the thing and come back…. He was seriously doubting his logic.
He began to debate with himself. Hey, Doc wouldn't just drop you, his best friend! He wouldn't do that!—But it's been so long…and the man has a time machine!! He was driven to near tears sometimes, mentally pleading with the Doc, as if his friend could telepathically answer his gut-wrenching questions. Doc, please! Come home! You don't belong there! You belong here!
Marty flashed back to Friday, November 1st, when Jennifer called.
"Marty, are you okay?"
"Uh…"
There was no sound for a while.
"I-I-I… I don't know."
"You've been pretty quiet at school since last Monday."
"Yeah… he… he was one of my best friends ever. I was his only friend. We've been through a lot and now he just… leaves… with a family all of a sudden."
"I'm really sorry, Marty."
"Thanks, Jen."
"If there's anything I can do, let me know."
"All right, thanks."
"Bye."
"Bye."
On November 10th, he went to his room, shut the door, and cried. He had bottled up the meat of his emotions, letting only glimpses of his feelings sneak through the door of his heart and into the voice of his mind. Now, his let his true heartache manifest itself with hearty, deep tears. After the torrent of salty moisture finished pouring from his eyelids and staining his face, a sudden, stark realization hit him like a punch in the jaw with brass knuckles.
"Oh, no… he's not coming back… is he? At least… not in the near future… he's not coming back."
He prayed it wasn't so, but he still held the possibility in his mind.
With this nauseating thought, he made a resolve. He was still sad, but he would not continue to sit in his room and mope. He would try as hard as he could to move on. Doc was. He would not let it show how upset he was, he would not drag those around him into a rut of despair with him. He would, instead, try as hard as he could to get himself out of that rut. Life was going to go back to normal… as normal as it could get.
In the meantime, from that point on, Marty, though he also would not ever forget Doc, started to get on with life. He practiced with the band, hung out, talked with Jennifer… he was going to be all right.
Still, he could not rid his stomach of that burning, sick feeling. He could not believe that his best friend would ever just leave and not come back, not even visit or send a letter. No. The Doc wouldn't do that.
But even so, he was going to be okay.
He had slumped back into bed the second he finished breakfast--but only because of exhaustion--and fallen into a deep sleep. The sudden ringing of the phone rudely plucked Marty from his dreams with a start. He turned to the clock next to his bed. It was 12:31. Marty's eyes grew wide.
"What the—Doc?" he wondered.
He swiftly yanked the receiver up to his ear and spoke, perhaps a bit too excitedly. "Yo, Doc, is that you?!"
There was a pause on the other end, then a male voice was heard. "Uh, no, this is Milton. Am I uncle, brother, or brother-in-law?"
Marty silently expressed his disappointment and realized that it was 12:31 P.M., on November 10, 1985, and that history was not somehow repeating itself. Marty shook himself, remembering that a question had been asked. "Oh, ah, I guess you're uncle Milton?"
"Hey! And who are you?"
"This is Marty."
"Hey, Marty. Is your Mom or Dad there?"
"Ah, yeah, just a second."
Marty grumbled as he walked to the hall to find out where his parents were. By now, for the most part Marty's wounds had healed up, but the jubilation in his uncle's voice seemed just a bit too much for Mart's ears. Though the wounds healed, they would still leave a scar. Still, the main reason for his grumbling was the fact that he had just been abruptly woken from a very nice nap after long, hard studying. He couldn't remember having studied that hard before. Now, it seemed to come by instinct, though his brain hadn't quite adjusted to the cramming of data. Maybe he was doing it for Doc. "If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything!" he had always said. Yes, he was doing it largely for Doc.
Also, having not heard from many relatives except for reports on Uncle Joey's status, on the inside he was glad to hear his Uncle's voice. The last time he had heard it was when he was ten, right before Uncle Milton, Aunt Nancy, and 6-year-old Cousin Scott had left for Kentucky… well, actually a few weeks ago for him…or was that about thirty years ago for them? Urgggh! The time lag still hadn't worn off, yet. It was getting better, though.
"Mom, Dad! Uncle Milton's on the phone!"
He ran a hand through his already tousled hair, and by the time he got back, the voice of his surprised Mother catching up with his Uncle already emanated from the phone, which he promptly hung up. He then proceeded to try and continue his nap. The attempt was futile, however, as he found himself remembering the times spent with some of his favorite relatives. His aunt and uncle had been so kind and loving to him, and his cousin had been fun to play with. He could hear delighted chatting drifting from the kitchen and the gleeful sounds of childhood play. He was confused though. He was not quite sure whether these were memories of his original life, or the new one. He could remember things about them that were much more like his original life, but seem intermingled with the fonder memories. Still, the good memories existed, one way or another, and if his family's new life was any indication, his uncle, aunt, and cousin would be much improved.
The memories were interrupted when his mother called him to the dining area. Lorraine Baines was wearing a huge grin when the McFly family had gathered.
"What's up, Lorraine," George asked, stretching his fingers from a long typing session. "Well, that was Milton," she practically gasped in excitement. "He's gotten a job offer here, and uh…" she spoke in a tone that was clearly meant to build anticipation. She could no longer hold it in. "They're moving back! He wanted to know if we had any plans for Thanksgiving!"
George, for the most part, shared Lorraine's enthusiasm. Dave and Linda, however, celebrated in the way that cheered out of obligation, but held little interest. Marty could see beneath the subdued exteriors, however, that they wanted to see them again, too. He, on the other hand, truly missed his relatives, and would be very happy to see them again. In a sleepy tone he said, "All right, that's great!"
"They'll be here in about a week. They've got some packing and things to do, and then they'll be on the flight here on Saturday!"
As Marty made the trek back to his room, Lorraine called out, "Oh, I almost forgot in all the excitement! They'll be staying with us for a few days, until they can get moved in to their new house!"
Saturday, November 16, 1985
3:41 P.M.
There they were. A rapping came at the door—
Knock-knock-knock-knock!
Lorraine rushed to the door, speedily unlocked it and flung it open.
"Milton!"
Not much had changed about Uncle Milton Baines. He looked the same as in 1955, only without his coonskin cap, taller and older—older wasn't quite the word, though. It was 'more mature' as opposed to 'older'—with a wife and son in tow.
"Hey, sis! How's it going?"
"Not bad, you?"
"Same here."
"Well, come on in. Nancy, how are you?"
"Well, I'm doing fine, Lorraine. You been good?"
Aunt Nancy was a with features that startlingly reminded Marty of his grandmother thirty years ago. However, Marty could recall his relatives — pre-time travel — and they certainly seemed to have undergone a change much similar to his parents. Milton appeared more like George in the way he carried himself, and was more confident. Aunt Nancy was trimmer and prettier than before. Marty was almost sure it had something to do with his time traveling adventures, but he couldn't place exactly what. Perhaps some slight subtle detail that he had made an effect on Uncle Milton with, maybe the influence of his 'new' parents. Marty wondered if it was the latter. If Milton's sister had been so depressed in the original reality, this would stand to reason. The nuisance of mixed reminiscence poked at Marty's mind once again, and he couldn't figure out just what had happened. Oh, well, as long as everything was okay.
The warming up "How are you? Not bad" routine went on until all three had come in. Marty greeted them last, and was surprised when he saw his cousin. Now thirteen-years-old, Marty figured, he had dark, strawberry-blond hair and wore spectacles and braces. He was also quite tall, about Marty's height, and this fact nearly made Marty dizzy. This was a far cry from his young, kindergarten-aged cousin.
"Hey, Scott. What's up?"
The two shook hands, and as Scott talked, he took a nostalgic glance around.
.
"Hey, not much — Well, moving back to Hill Valley, but other than that…"
"All right, cool."
There was a long inevitable pause, until George called to Marty. "Marty. Why don't you go help Scott bring in some of the luggage."
"Right, Dad." He turned to Scott, "Come on."
Milton passed Scott the keys and the cousins headed out. Upon reaching Milton's nice sedan, Scott opened the trunk and took out a couple of large suitcases, an overnight bag, and a compartment-filled backpack. It was then, as he looked at the driveway filled with nice, new cars, that Marty realized that the McFly-Baines family was now a successful one.
"I'll get the suitcases, you can just get the bags," Scott said.
"Are you sure they're not too heavy?"
Scott laughed. "Nah. Just worry about the bags, especially the backpack."
As Marty gripped the handles of the bags, Marty found out why Scott had laughed at Marty's question. The backpack felt like it weighed a ton. Upon a frisking, Marty could tell the thing was packed to its limit, maybe further.
"Geez Louise! What do you have in this thing?!"
"My tapes and books mostly, a toothbrush, glasses case…"
"Man, I've gotta see this!"
"Whoaaa…"
Marty let out an amazed curse, his jaw hanging open at the sheer amount of tapes Scott had taken the effort to take. Marty wondered if he should offer to make him a few mixes from blank tapes. Crammed into the backpack was a myriad of albums of various styles: from rock to jazz to film scores. Buried beneath was a pile of books, also in an amazing variety. Marty sifted through, checking out all the tapes. He found one he didn't recognize.
"Hey, Petra! Are they some hot new guys I've never heard of?"
"It's a Christian rock band. They're not as hard as your Van Halen, but they're pretty good."
So that's why Scott had looked so uncomfortable when Marty swore. The teen wasn't surprised. Back when his relatives had still lived in Hill Valley, he remembered overhearing conversations between the parents concerning uncle Milton and aunt Nancy's investigation into various religions and faiths. He hadn't understood at the time, but now it all clicked. They'd finally settled on Christianity. He'd have to try to watch his language, hard as it may be.
Marty shifted his concentration and looked back at the assortment of albums and expressed his awe once more.
"I must say, I'm impressed."
"Thanks. I had to mow so many yards to get all these it's ridiculous." Marty chuckled. After a moment he collected himself. "Seriously, man, how've you been? It's been forever since we've seen each other, come on."
"I've been good. I miss some of my friends, but otherwise, I'm doing good."
"Good."
"What about you?"
"Oh, not much." Right. "Just playing guitar, gettin' chewed out by Strickland — remember him?"
Scott's eyes grew wide and he pointed in rememberance. "Oh, the bald dude!"
"That's the one."
"I remember when he visited my class in kindergarten!"
Scott adopted a stern expression, pursing his lips over his teeth and wrinkling his brow in mock irritation, then holding his bangs back to give the impression of having no hair. He perfectly captured Principal Strickland's face, and began talking, also adapting the man's voice—every hiss, every embellishment—to a tee.
"Now, you kids… don't grow up to be ssslackers, like some people in this town!"
Marty laughed out loud at the wonderful performance, and began to follow Scott's lead.
"I don't like your attitude, McFly!"
Before long they were both bursting with laughter, reminiscing about old times. When they put themselves back together, Scott started as if remembering something.
"So, what happened to ol' Doc Brown?"
"Uh…" Marty paused to think up a story, which came to him quickly. "Uh, he had to move just a couple weeks ago. Had a new job that came up, and, uh, he decided to take it."
"That's too bad. I know you were becoming pretty good friends back then. I wish I could've met him properly, too." He snorted a laugh. "Heck, the only time I actually met 'im was when I was trying to get in with the older kids, but…I guess I just wasn't into their kinda fun."
Marty knew what fun he was talking about. He had participated in it. Fireworks, eggs, T.P., the works. The mansion would, somehow, be cleaned up a good deal faster than a man of that age should have been able to clean — sometimes the next day. One day, apparently Marty's conscience got a good workout, and he voluntarily went to help clean up the mess he had made the night before. From there, the two's business relationship grew into a friendship, one that would last through time. Of course, Marty found out just why the mansion was fixed up so easily. Some of Doc's side-project inventions that actually worked — though
there would be no telling for how long.
"Yeah. I know what you mean," Marty said, wondering why this topic had to be brought up now, just when he was starting to put it out of his mind.
A long silence followed, when suddenly Scott piped up with a lighter topic.
"Hey," he said, jabbing Marty in the ribs with a mischievous grin," you still got a crush on Jennifer Parker?"
Marty returned the smile. "Heh, yeah I guess you could say that! In fact, we've been an item for almost a year now. Hey, what about you, Mr. Teen? You got anyone special you miss? Huh?… Huh," he playfully said.
"N-no…" Scott's face flushed like a toilet.
"Rrright…" Marty said, sarcasm unhidden in his voice.
"Well, sorta. Nothing much. Just a little crush." Scott was looking down at the floor, but still held a smile on his face and in his voice.
"All right, all right, I'll knock it off," Marty surrendered.
Scott's attention turned to his feet, then he smacked his forehead, eyes clamped shut.
"Oh, shoot! I forgot!"
"What?"
"I left my skates in the car."
"Ah, we'll get 'em in the morning. Now, let me hear some of this Petra."
Sunday, November 17, 1985
1:07 A.M.
At about 9:00 P.M., they had cleared some space on Marty's not-quite-ready-for-company floor for Scott's bedding. This consisted of a few pillows, a cover, and a sleeping bag. Now, unable to sleep, the young teen crawled out of the comfortable berth, headed down the hall and got a glass of warm milk. Upon finishing it, he walked back to the room. Just as he entered the door, he thought he heard a series of sounds like a thud against wood.
Pock…pock…pock…
"The fence," he whispered to himself.
Immediately after, there was a hurried rustling in the bushes. Scott momentarily froze in his tracks, then dropped to the floor. He crawled silently to the moonlit window and flattened himself against the wall to the right of the window. Peeking through the blinds, he was startled by the sight of a tuft of zany white hair darting spastically to and fro in the bushes. At the first glance after recovering from the initial shock, it almost reminded him of Doc Brown's wild mane. Remembering that he was out of town, he instantly shoved that thought from his mind.
He raced to Marty's bed in attempt to wake him.
"Marty! Marty," he whispered the futile cry. Marty was in one of his serious sleep modes. He had fallen asleep with his clothes on, and he was laid across the width of the bed. His arms were stuffed beneath his torso and his rear was stuck up in the air, left leg hung across the other side, the right tucked under it. A string of drowsy drool leaked to the floor from his head, hanging over the side nearest the window. No doubt about it, he was out for the count. At least for the moment, Scott would be getting no help from his cousin.
As the patch of hair moved as stealthily as possible towards the window, Scott spun back to the room in desperate search of something to hit the man with. The first thing he laid eyes on was Marty's guitar seated in its rack. It would work, but it was out of the question. The next thing that came to mind was a baseball bat. He peered back out the window before starting his hunt to check on the intruder. He was now about ten yards away from the garbage cans that he would have to climb to reach the window. Scott began to scour the room for a bat, but after a minute or so his attempts came up fruitless.
Now, he heard nothing outside. Suddenly there was another clatter, and then it was all quiet again except for a soft autumn breeze, even that barely heard. What he didn't realize was that he was mistaking the intruder's stealthiness for silence, and then thoughts of the man's absence. He tip-toed back to the window and crouched down next to the window and slowly opened the blinds, bit by bit. Finally the blinds were completely opened, and two reactions happened simultaneously. The intruder practically had his face flattened against the window as he attempted to open the window, startling the heck out of Scott. The
young teen's mere presence sharply startled the man crouched on top of the garbage cans! Scott clasped his hands over his mouth to muffle out his frightened shrieks as he slipped backwards, falling hard on his makeshift bed. The man outside let out his hoarse scream, and, even though he tried very intensely to stay upright, he slipped, passing out midair.
Now Scott didn't give a care how asleep Marty was, he was going to wake him up! Now he made little attempt to mute his calls to Marty, and shook him as furiously as he could.
"Marty! Marty, you gotta wake up! Oh, man, come on! Marty!"
Still almost completely asleep, he rolled over until he was facing belly up and, eyes shut, began to mumble.
"Wha-what is it?"
Clearly seeing how unawake his cousin was, Scott continued to rip into him. After a second Marty's eyelids finally pried themselves from each other. As soon as he realized Marty could understand him, Scott rapidly began talking, his only breaks being gasps of breath.
"Marty there's this guy outside and he was trying to break in and I woke up and saw this hair pop up out of the bushes gasp and I turned and there he was and I tripped gasp and he passed out and it's really freakin' me out!"
"Okay, okay, ease up, man, you're startin' to sound like me, okay?! Now, show me where he is."
Scott ran to the window and, unable to see properly past the garbage cans, he opened it. He leaned out just enough to see the identity of the man.
"He's right there…Doc Brown?!"
Sure enough, apparently having just missed a collision of the concrete with his skull, there lay Doc Emmett L. Brown, unconscious. Hearing Scott's amazed cry, Marty rushed to the window himself, eyes wide.
"Holy—Doc!…Doc??"
"Hey, you said he was out of town!"
"Well, ah—he was… sort of… I mean, I didn't know he had come back," Marty improvised.
Scott shook his head in confusion — Marty actually sharing some of it — as Marty started to crawl out over the garbage cans into the bushes and the grass next to his friend.
"We've gotta get 'im inside. You get his legs, I'll take the arms."
They proceeded to slide him inside, and when they had finally gotten him safely through, they crawled in and quietly shut the window. Marty began to feel a sense of deja vu as he began slapping Doc across the face and pleading with him to wake up. In the middle of Marty's effort, Scott left the room.
"I'll be right back."
"Where the hel—heck do you think you're goin'?" Marty asked, irritated.
"You'll see."
Marty heard some metallic clatter in the direction of the kitchen, then the hissing of the faucet drifted to his ears. Soon after, Scott returned, a large pot of cold water in his arms. He set it on the floor and kneeled down.
"What are we gonna do with that, dunk 'im?!"
"Sure," Scott said in in 'of course, why not?' tone.
Marty thought a moment, remembering Doc had done that himself in the horse trough by the Palace Saloon. He nodded his agreement.
"Great."
"Scott, help me get him up, we've gotta stick his head into it."
They each grabbed a shoulder and positioned him so that his head was just over the pot. They looked to each other as if to say, "Ready? Here goes," and swiftly dunked his head into the pot. Water splashed about and immediately started to bubble, and the muted cries of the Doc radiated through the surface.
"Hurry, let's get him out!" Marty ordered.
They plucked his head from the pot and Marty slapped a hand over his mouth. Air could be heard going in and out of the Doc's nostrils rapidly, his eyes darting about until he realized where he was. He relaxed when he saw Marty, but when he took a few glances at the boy to his right. Reluctantly, Marty lifted his hand. Locks dripping, Doc began speaking as if he had never left.
"Marty, I had hoped you'd be asleep by now."
"Hey, Doc, I was asleep!"
"I can vouch for that, Doctor Brown!" Scott cut in, recalling Marty's sleeping position that had bordered on the disturbing.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Marty's cousin, Scott."
"Pleasure…I think. The circumstances of my entry were not the best."
Marty's face twisted in puzzlement. Scott, however, immediately understood what Doc meant.
"Marty, he means that, uh, it wasn't all that great how he came in…with me waking up and all."
Marty nodded in surprised understanding.
Doc looked shocked. "Well, it's not every day that I find a youth understanding my vocabulary!"
"Yeah, same here."
Marty had gotten through enough of this. After all this time waiting for Doc to come, he was talking about the fact that Scott could understand his dictionary talk. None of that, no sir. He looked at Doc with an expression that made the aged scientist remember the time that had elapsed since the friends' last time together. He leaned in and the two old friends embraced. "Man, Doc, I've missed you!"
"I know, Marty, I know."
The tenderness of the moment began to hit Scott, and to brighten things up, he broke in, "Uh, Doctor Brown, sir… why, may I ask, are you trying to sneak in here in the middle of the night?"
As Marty started to open his mouth to voice the oddity of the situation himself, Doc shot him a look that wondered what he should say, and said that he didn't need any of the older teen's questioning at the moment.
The man didn't need to speak, though, because Marty spoke up for him. "Ah, Scott, you know the Doc…he's always been a little weird, ya know?"
Now the inventor's brow furrowed in slight offense. "Now wait a minute, Marty!"
"Shut up, Doc, I'm savin' your butt here," Marty whispered through gritted teeth. "Just play along!" Marty turned back to his cousin. "You know, it's a…it's an old…thing…tha-that we used to do, you know? And I guess he's…uh, just coming back for some old nos—nas—nust—"
"Nostalgia," Doc corrected. He proceeded to play along, showing a countenance that was a hair off from being a little too cheerful. "Yes, I was just going to leave you a note, Marty. Instead of coming in broad daylight—vastly over, you know—"
At this point, Marty discreetly burrowed his elbow in Doc's ribs. "Don't overdo it."
"Yes, anyway, instead of doing that, I decided to follow tradition and sneak in in the middle of the night and leave it. So, uh, I'm very busy, got to go check on some…stuff…and fix a new invention I'm working on and…yes. I'll be going now! Wonderful to have met you, Scott!"
Doc started to back away towards the window, whispering to Marty, "I wish I could have conversed further, but I can't. It's all in the note."
With that he hastily pocketed the note in Marty's jean pocket and continued to his destination. Unfortunately, he did not see Scott's pack sitting dangerously in his path, and tripped, grabbing at the surrounding shelves to steady himself. He was unsuccesful at this, though, and brought many of the contents of the shelves down with him, landing with a thud, and a clatter after that of the odds and ends spilling onto his belly.
A din somewhere in the house echoed in the trio's ears, and a questioning mutter outside revealed the woken person's identity.
"Oh, dear. What are they doing in there?" A distant female voice penetrated the walls.
"Oh, my gosh, it's your Mom!" Scott whispered to Marty.
After a moment of scared stillness, Marty spun his head in the Doc's direction.
"Doc, get out of there, get under the bed, hurry!"
The scientist scrambled out from under the pile of books and things and underneath the bed. Muffled cries were heard from beneath Marty's mattress as he tossed things below to hide Doc. Marty stood thinking for a second, the question of what to do next easy to decipher on his face. Scott, however, instantly spoke up.
"Marty… maybe we should just start picking up the books."
"Right! We can just tell my Mom I messed up when I woke up and knocked over the stuff."
Doc pulled some items from his face to comment to Marty, "Marty, I've never noticed you waking up suddenly in the middle of a nap!"
Marty ducked back down to address Doc, "I don't think my parents know that, though, Doc! We've never been all that close!" He paused, a regretful look on his face, remembering that was in the pre-time traveling timeline. He soon jerked himself back to reality and began to stuff the junk back around Doc before the man could object to Marty's previous statement.
They had barely completed any work before Lorraine's knock was heard at the door.
"Marty, Scott, are you okay?"
"Uh, yeah, Mom, we're fine!"
"Can I come in?"
Scott and Marty looked at each other, silently asking one another whether or not to admit her. After some "I don't see why not…I guess it's okay" side-to-side nodding of the head went on, Marty called back, "Yeah, Mom, go ahead."
The first words that came from Lorraine's mouth when she opened the door were, "Oh, Marty, did you fall asleep in your clothes again?"
"Uh, yeah… sorry, Mom."
"Just what happened in here? I heard this crash."
"Oh, uh… I just woke up and, uh… kinda spazzed out and knocked a bunch of stuff on the floor. We're picking it up."
"Marty, I've never noticed you waking up suddenly in the middle of a good rest!" Both teens' eyes widened at this remarked. What the heck? "After all, with all this studying you've been doing lately I'm surprised you haven't gone into hibernation!"
"Oh, uh… uh…"
"Didn't you say you had to go to the bathroom, Marty?"
First Marty squinted at the question, then his face brightened in comprehension.
"Oh, yeah. Drank a bunch of water, didn't go before I went to sleep… you know."
Lorraine shrugged and turned to shut the door.
"Oh… all right. Be sure to get right back to sleep, boys. Good night."
"Good night, Aunt Lorraine."
"Good night, Mom."
When they were sure she was gone, they first of all went to dig Doc out from under the bed.
"You really do have a problem thinking fourth-dimensionally," Doc said as he clambered out of the makeshift hiding cave, just barely loud enough for Scott to hear.
"What?"
Doc immediately realized what he had said.
"Wait a minute… they talked about the fourth dimension in 'The Time Machine.'"
"Yes… they did…" Doc said, trying to think up another further cover-up.
Marty spared Doc the effort, though, breaking in, "Yeah, that's just another one of our old in-jokes… kinda complicated. Don't worry about it."
Fortunately for Marty and Doc, Scott just shrugged the thing off.
Doc now stepped—a little more cautiously—to the window and turned back one more time.
"See you later, Marty."
"Or sooner, Doc."
After a smiling pause, Doc replied, "Yeah." He then turned to Scott. "It was nice meeting you, Scott."
"Same here, Doctor Brown."
And then, he slipped out of the window. Marty went over and shut it, and, after a few moments of minor noise, Doc was clearly gone. His emotions bittersweet — Doc was gone… but he had visited! That was a good sign! —, Marty headed to bed, indicating that Scott should, too. They bid each other good night, and they both hit the sack.
Marty had intended to wait until Scott was asleep, then he would read the note. He tried to leave his eyes open. They soon got droopy as he impatiently wished his cousin would start snoring… Gotta stay awake…gotta stay awake… soon, his tired eyes shut, and he tried to retain consciousness. Come…on…gotta stay a…Just then, he was asleep.
Sunday, November 17, 1985
10:03 A.M.
Marty's eyes snapped open. The note! His hand flew into his pocket, paper brushing against his fingertips. He spun around to stand up, and slid the note out of his pocket. He threw his head back to where Scott had been, now a mess of bedding with no occupant. Knowing it was safe, he opened Doc's note and read.
Dear Marty,
I regret that I have not been able to contact you until this time. I wish I could have stayed when I visited you last month, but I knew that people would have already been talking about the sonic booms lately, and if they had seen the time train, well, it would not have been good. I hadn't thought of what would happen when people saw a DeLorean on the railroad tracks coasting across Shona-Eastwood Ravine! But then again, it was our only option.
First and foremost, the question on your mind right now is probably that of why I did not have Western Union hold this letter and deliver it to a specific place in 1985.
Marty paused. The thought hadn't really come to mind, but when he remembered the past couple of letters sent between them, he understood that this was odd. To find the answer, he started at the beginning of the paragraph and continued reading.
The reason is that I did not want to arouse too much suspicion. My "science experiment" alibi can only hold up so many times. I already get occasional curious, knowing looks from the Western Union workers. My only other option was to come and deliver it to you in person. I am sneaking it in in the middle of tonight—Saturday, November 3, 1985—, so, unless something completely mind-boggling occurs, you should find it the morning of Sunday, November 4.
I am giving you this letter because I am in need of your help. The problem is too complex to address in this message, however, I do have some instruction for you. You must meet me in the forest across Eastwood Ravine this morning of Sunday, November 4th, at 10: 20 A.M—
At this point Marty stopped reading and his vision flew in the direction of his clock. 10:04 A.M., and sure to hit the next minute at any time. He unconsciously dropped the letter on the floor and ran out of his room, grasping through his pockets for the keys to the 4X4. Upon reaching the dining area, where most of the family was eating, talking, or reading the paper, he quickly spoke to his parents.
"Mom, Dad, I've gotta go do something, I don't know when I'll be back, but I'll try and call you about the time I'm on my way back here, bye."
The couple tried to get in a question or two, but the storm door was already shut. Scott's forehead wrinkled in bewilderment.
What was that all about?
As soon as he finished his breakfast, he walked back to Marty's room and got dressed. The moment he slid his T-shirt over his head, he looked to the floor right next to Marty's bed. A piece of previously folded paper lay unraveled. He wore the same expression as when Marty had left and slowly crouched to pick up the document. His eyes soared through the words, doing several double takes.
"Sonic booms? Time train?! What the heck…?"
His voice trailed off as he read the last part of the letter that Marty had read and followed his cousin's lead: he looked to the clock. It was now 10:10 A.M.. The gears in his head rapidly turned with the power source of urgency. An idea formulated. He stuffed the letter in his pocket, grabbed his backpack and ran out to his parents.
"Mom, Dad, can I go for a skate?"
They quietly conversed with standard "What do you think? I don't see why not" dialogue, then they turned back to their son.
"It's okay with us," Milton said. "Just be back as soon as you can, okay?"
"Great. Thanks, Dad."
He went to the car and retrieved the gear, dumping the tapes into the trunk. He took off his shoes, put them in the backpack and put some of his favorite tapes in the compartment with his Walkman. He put on his skates, slipped on his backpack and set out for the forest.