Chapter 3

Sunday, July 13th, 1986

Hill Valley

12: 03 P. M.

Clara dunked her hands into the warm water and began automatically scrubbing a plate. Her mind, though, wasn't thinking of plates at all. It was focused on Doc. Ever since Marty's funeral, her husband had been acting strangely. He was extremely cold and distant, especially to her and the children. He'd sneer at them and make nasty comments. Jules and Verne were afraid to misbehave in his presence, as he roared at them for the slightest infraction. He refused to spend any more time with them than was absolutely necessary, to the point of sleeping on the couch. Practically every spare moment was spent in the garage or at the cemetery.

She slid a dish into place on the rack. She didn't like what her husband was turning into. Not at all. Even his physical appearance had changed. His brown eyes, once so loving and vivid, now shone with a frightening light. If he looked at her too long, she had to turn away. She had once heard that the eyes were the windows to the soul. It unnerved her to think Doc's soul might be as twisted as his eyes.

Still, he is my husband, she thought, finishing another dish. And he's going through a very tough time in his life. I wish I could reach out to him, so I could understand why he's acting like this, though. If only I could tell him how much I'm hurting too. . . .

She felt a tug on her dress. Clara looked down to see Jules standing by her side. "Mama, what's the number for Heaven?"

"Why do you want to call Heaven, honey?"

Verne came in, holding the phone. "We wanna call Marty. So Papa will be happy again."

Tears welled up in Clara's eyes. "Boys, Marty can't answer the phone from Heaven."

"Do we call God and ask him to get Marty?"

Clara paused for a moment to get a handle on her emotions. Then she crouched down and motioned them closer so she could hug them. "Jules, Verne, Marty can't come back. When you die, you go to Heaven forever."

"But we miss him," Jules complained.

"So do I, honey." Clara felt a surge of guilt as the fight forced itself back into her mind. "I miss him very much. But missing him won't make him come back."

"I think Papa thinks it will," Verne said, hugging back. "He talks to Marty all the time. I hear him. So does Jules." His older brother nodded.

"He's just very sad Marty's gone. He'll be happy again one day, you'll see." She straightened up and looked at the plate still left on the table. "I was sure he'd join us for lunch," she murmured. "Jules, honey, would you take your father his lunch? I don't want him to be both sad and hungry."

"Okay, Mama," Jules said reluctantly. "But I don't want him to yell at me again."

"He won't yell at you for feeding him, I'm sure."

Jules nodded, reassured. He grabbed the plate and headed to the garage.

Sunday, July 13th

12: 05 P. M.

Doc was seated at his desk, scribbling in a notebook and mumbling to himself. "I need something very painful to make Marty happy," he muttered. "Now what's painful?"

No results. Is the cold shoulder the best you can do, you moron?

Doc cringed. "I'm sorry, Marty. I'll try to do better. I promise."

Promises, promises. I want to see them in pain, and you don't come through. You act like they didn't do something horrible to me.

"No! I know that they're terrible people who deserve to die! I know how cruel they were to you!"

Then prove it! Act like it!

Doc was about to reply when there was a knock at the door. "I have your lunch, Papa," Jules said in a small voice, poking his head in.

Doc felt an influx of rage. "I am working," he hissed, tensing noticeably. "You shouldn't disturb me like this."

"Sorry," Jules said quickly, setting the sandwich down on a nearby table. "You workin' on bringing Marty back?" he asked, preparing for a speedy getaway if his father flew into a rage again. "I wanna see him again."

Doc turned and stared at Jules for a moment. The anger inside him began to build. He hated the little child in front of him for being alive when Marty was not. How dare he ask about the kid he had helped take away from him? How dare he?

Suddenly, he was seized by the urge to act out his rage. He leapt up and ran for the child. Jules quickly turned tail and fled, but Doc caught up with him before he had made it halfway up the path back to the house. Grabbing him roughly and spinning him around, Doc struck him across the face. His son let out a howl of shock and pain. "Shut up!" Doc roared, shaking him hard. "You little brat!"

Clara and Verne, hearing Jules's scream, came running. "Emmett, what's going on?" she asked, staring in astonishment at the scene.

Doc practically threw Jules at her. "Take this little piece of shit and get out of my sight. I have more important things to do than look at you disgusting things all day."

Jules clung to Clara's legs, crying loudly. A dark, nasty-looking bruise was forming across his mouth. Clara tried to comfort him. "Aww, my poor baby. . . ."

Jules pointed at Doc, shaking. "He hit me!"

Clara blinked, then looked at Doc strangely. "Is that true, Emmett?"

Doc just stared at her coldly. That was all the answer Clara needed. She glared at him, her shock turning into anger. "What reason would you need to assault your own son?! I can't believe you!"

"Will you go already? Or do I have to hit you too?" Doc snapped, raising his hand threateningly. "Don't think I won't."

Clara gathered up Jules and took Verne's hand. "Until you apologize and promise never to harm these children again, you are no longer welcome in this house! I'll keep you out by force if necessary! Now get out!"

"Gladly," Doc said, his voice dead cold. "I'm sick of you anyway, you lying, traitorous bitch! You won't get away with what you did." He stormed into the garage and slammed the door.

Clara hurried the children back into the house. Jules nuzzled her neck, still sobbing. "What'd he do with Papa?" he demanded, almost unintelligibly.

"Excuse me, honey?"

"That man ain't Papa. Papa would never hit me. What did he do with Papa?"

"Yeah, Mama, where's Papa?" Verne agreed, eyes wide with fright.

Clara grabbed a washcloth from the sink and wet it. "I don't know. But I'll keep you safe, don't worry." She gently began tending his bruise.

Sunday, July 13th

9: 16 P. M.

Clara stared out the window at the lights in the garage. Doc was still in there, doing who knows what. She felt a chill go up her spine as she remembered what had happened earlier that day. She could hardly believe that the same man who had rescued her from certain death at Clayton Ravine had hit his own child. Doc abhorred violence! What had happened inside to make him so cruel?

She lifted herself off the windowsill and headed for the kitchen. Jules and Verne had been very disturbed by the incident. They refused to go out and play in the yard, afraid that Doc would come after them again. In fact, Jules had refused to leave her side until bedtime -- and then he had asked her to stay until he fell asleep. She had been only too happy to comply.

Searching through the cupboards, she found what she needed -- a large heavy skillet. She wanted to talk to her husband, but she didn't want to do it unprotected. If he made so much as one move to hurt her or to get back in the house, she'd whack him one. She hid it behind her back and cautiously made her way down to the garage.

Doc was just backing the van out. He saw Clara and rolled down the window. "Yes?" he said, coldly polite.

"I just wanted to know what on earth has gotten into you lately," Clara said carefully, running her finger up and down the skillet handle.

"Marty's death is what's gotten into me," he snapped. "I lost my best friend, if you haven't noticed."

Clara felt herself soften a little. "I know, Emmett. It's hard for me too. The last words I ever said to him were 'I wish I never had to see you again.'" Doc's eyes went wide in shock. "It hurts so much that I will never see him again. I wish so much that I could take it all back. I never wanted him to die."

Doc just stared at her for a moment. Then he gunned the motor. "I have to get out of here. Being around you just makes the fucking pain stronger. Tell Jules that he doesn't have to worry anymore." With that, he rocketed down the driveway.

Clara watched him go. It's for the best, she thought to herself. Once he recovers from his grief, he'll be my beloved Emmett again. I just hope Jules and Verne are willing to let him back into their lives.

On the road, Doc gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. She told him she wished he would die. I can't believe that bitch.

I also can't believe I fulfilled that bitch's wish.

As he wiped the sweat from his eyes, he heard Marty's voice. I knew you loved her more. You wanted me dead, didn't you?

"No!" Doc yelled. "It wasn't my fault! IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" He swung the car over to the side of the road and stopped, beginning to sob. "It wasn't my fault. . . ."

He kept repeating it to himself over and over, refusing to believe that the blame could lay with him for Marty's death. "Not my fault. Her fault. Not my fault. Her fault."

If you really believe that, do something about it.

"I will, Marty. I will."