Chapter 2

Friday, July 11th, 1986

Hill Valley

2: 14 P. M.

"We are gathered here today, to wish a young soul Godspeed. . . ."

Doc clutched Clara's arm tightly. His mind was reeling. How could this be happening? Marty was approximately 47 years his junior. Their roles should be reversed. Marty should be standing where he was, and he should be in the coffin. It just wasn't right.

"During his brief time on earth, he brightened the lives of many people. He was a good, kind person. . . ."

Clara dabbed at her eyes with a hanky, trying to be strong for her husband. Inside, she was dying. All she could think about were the last words she'd spoken to Marty. Sometimes I wish I never had to see you again. Well, she'd gotten her wish -- in the worst possible way.

"Heaven will provide the perfect stage for his music. . . ."

I killed my best friend.

Doc felt his legs going weak. I'm responsible for Marty being in that coffin. I was the one who shoved him into that puddle. Made him slip. Made him crack his head on the counter. Killed him.

He bit his lip. The guilt pressed down on him, making him want to shriek. He wanted to run up to the coffin and beg Marty for forgiveness. He wanted to kill himself and be buried with Marty.

He didn't know it, but he was losing his mind.

"All who knew him shall cherish the short time they had together. . . ."

The argument seemed so stupid now. So what if Marty played a little roughly with Jules and Verne? He had played with them. He had been kind to them. He had been kind to her when she had first arrived in 1985. He had tried to be friends.

And she had repaid him with countless hours of fighting. Clara closed her eyes and hung her head. "I wish we could fight again," she murmured. "Anything would be better than this."

The elegy ended with the coffin being gently lowered into the ground. Marty's grieving family each stepped forward and threw in a handful of dirt, whispering their goodbyes. A red-eyed Lorraine turned to the Browns and Parkers. "Would any of you like to. . . ."

Jennifer promptly picked up a handful of dirt. "I'll miss you so much, Marty," she wept, throwing it in. Unable to say any more, she turned and buried her face in her father's chest.

Jules and Verne advanced and tossed in little scoops. "Come visit us from Heaven," Jules said, the six-year-old unusually solemn. Verne nodded, his four-year-old face deadly serious. Clara dabbed at her eyes again.

Doc gave her a gentle nudge. "I want to go last," he whispered.

Clara nodded and picked up a good handful of dirt. She moved to the side of the grave. "I'm so sorry our last time together was unhappy," she said, sniffling. "I really did like you, Marty." She blew her nose and dropped in her dirt. "I'm so sorry."

Doc stepped to the graveside. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he said in an unusually high voice. He coughed and continued in a more normal tone. "I owe you everything, Marty. I love you like a son." He sifted his dirt into the grave, agony tearing his heart in half as he did so.

The grave was filled in as the mourners slowly began to scatter. The McFlys huddled together for support as they moved away. Jennifer went up to Doc, tears shining in her eyes. "Bring him back," she pleaded. "At least try to bring him back." Overcome, she dashed back to her father's waiting arms.

Doc looked at Clara. "I don't know--" He couldn't continue. "I'm sorry, Clara, I need some time alone."

"Of course, honey. Jules, Verne, come with Mama." She led her children away, glancing back briefly at Doc. He was standing by the grave, tears running down his face. My poor Emmett.

Doc stayed by the graveside until he was sure he was alone. Then he knelt on the freshly-turned earth and wept unabashedly. "Marty -- Marty, forgive me. I'm so sorry. I'm in hell, knowing I'm the cause of all this. I swear, it was an accident. . . ." He buried his face in his hands.

Sure it was.

Doc's head jerked up. "Marty?" he whispered.

You gotta lot of nerve, lying to me like that. If it was an accident, how come I'm six feet under?

The last of Doc's sanity slipped away unnoticed. Talking to Marty's disembodied voice suddenly seemed quite normal. "It was an accident," he argued. "I never meant for you to die."

Yeah, right. I guess the first part was an accident. But was it an accident to marry that bitch?

Doc blinked. "I -- I don't understand. . . ."

If I hadn't had that fucking argument with Clara bitch, I would have never ended up dead! She's the one who deserves to be dead, you bastard! Not me!

"Don't be angry at me, Marty, don't be angry," Doc groveled. "I didn't know--"

Shut up and listen. Doc nodded eagerly. I want revenge.

"Okay," Doc said. "Will that make you happy again, Marty?" He pulled himself closer to the tombstone, looking for all the world like Renfield cowering before Dracula. "Will that make you love me again?"

It'll help. She made me suffer. She made me die. I want the same to happen to her. And those two brats.

"Did Jules and Verne hurt you? I promise I'll punish them."

Do more than punish them. Kill them.

"Whatever you say, Marty," Doc nodded, his eyes lit up with an insane light. "I never knew they were so cruel." His face darkened, became enraged. "They'll pay for what they did to you, Marty. They'll pay. I'll make them scream for what they did to you. They'll die in agony for making me hurt you."

Good. Marty's voice already sounded happier. Glad to see you still have some sense left, Doc. Don't disappoint me.

"Never, Marty. I love you. I always loved you. Even while I was making those terrible, terrible mistakes, I loved you."

And you're going to fix those mistakes soon, right?

"Of course! I don't know how, yet. . . ."

The voice's tone grew dark. You'd better think of something. I don't want them alive for long.

"Oh no, no worries, Marty," Doc rushed to appease him. "I'll make sure they're suffering in the meantime. They won't get away with this. With your instruction to guide me, they can't."

Clara's voice interrupted. "Emmett?" she said, walking up behind them.

Doc's fists clenched, his face darkening again. "Go away," he growled. Her very presence inflamed his new hatred of her. "I want to be alone."

Clara stepped back, startled by her husband's rough tone. "Okay," she said unsteadily. "The kids want to go home, though. They don't like being in the graveyard."

"Then take them home," Doc told her, a sarcastic note in his voice. "I'll come along later. Now leave."

"You want us to hire a cab."

"Whatever. GO!"

Clara quickly left, wondering what on earth had come over Doc. Must be grief, she decided as she collected Jules and Verne. He's so upset he doesn't hear himself. I guess the only thing to do is ride it out. "We're going home, kids."

"Where's Papa?" asked Jules, puzzled.

"He wants to stay here for a little while."

Back at the grave, Doc lay his head against Marty's tombstone. "Was that okay?" he inquired, his manner completely servile. "For a start, at least?"

You can do better. I want them dead within a week.

"Of course, Marty. Of course."