Chapter 6

Sunday, July 6th, 1986

Hill Valley

12: 04 P. M.

Clara, exhausted, saw that the train was on a collision course with the side of the canyon. She yanked on the brake and nervously landed the train. Doc, very dizzy, tried to pull himself back up, holding his knife tightly. "Stand still," he snapped, waving the blade around without plan.

Clara poked him away and lifted the poker above her head. She swung it down, catching him right on top of the head. Doc collapsed, some blood starting to run from his scalp. Clara hit him again, then fled the train, hoping that he was too injured to come after her.

She sighed as she found a route to the top of the ravine. Why couldn't I just kill him? she wondered. Why did I leave him there? A moment later, she answered herself with, Because I still love him, somehow. I can't kill him, no matter if it means my own life. But I need help. I really need help.

She pulled herself up over the side and walked to the road. A friendly motorist pulled up beside her. "Hey there, Mrs. Brown. You look exhausted. Do you need a ride?"

By now, Clara was running on automatic. "Sure." She got inside.

"Where to?"

Without thinking, she said, "Please, just take me home."

Sunday, July 6th

12: 08 P. M.

Doc finally regained his full senses. "How could one man have such terrible luck?" he complained, rubbing his head. "I'm extremely sorry for failing you, Marty."

"Sorry" ain't good enough.

"I know, I know. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Look, I can use the time machine to get those two little brats."

I don't give a shit about Jules and Verne. I give a shit about Clara. I want you to KILL HER. Why can't you do anything right for me?

"I'm so, so sorry Marty. Tell me what to do. I'm helpless without you."

Obviously. Go after her and kill her, you moron. In fact, why don't you cut yourself up a little for being so stupid?

"Okay." Doc carved a few shallow cuts into his arms. "Is that okay?"

Yes. Now GO GET THAT BITCH.

"Sure thing, Marty. She'll be dead by sunset."

Sunday, July 6th

1: 09 P. M.

Clara thanked the motorist as they reached her house. She weakly got out of the car and headed up to the door. She didn't know why she had decided to go back home. It had been an instinctive reaction. At least the psychopathic Doc wouldn't be waiting for her there. She hoped. Vaguely wondering what time she had traveled to, she fell against the front door.

In the kitchen, Marty and Doc were finishing up a rather wimpy shoving match when they both heard a loud, abrupt thud. Doc paused just as he was about to push his friend. "What was that?"

Marty shrugged. "You expecting company, Doc?"

Doc shook his head. "I'd better see who it is." He started for the door, but stepped in the spilled puddle of milk and slipped. In an almost cartoonish fashion, his lower body fell backward while his upper body fell sideways. Marty, startled, managed to catch him before his head could strike the stone counter. "You okay?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah, fine," Doc said, regaining his footing. "We must have knocked over my glass during our match." He grabbed a dishtowel and wiped it up. "Good thing you caught me. My reflexes apparently aren't as fast as I thought they were."

"Like I'm going to let anything happen to you now that you've survived the Libyans, Biff, and Buford," Marty scoffed, although his face betrayed that he was still worried. "You'd better get the door before Clara says anything."

"Could you say her name a little less sarcastically, please? I know you're mad, but I'm the one who lives with her." Doc finally got around to answering the door, Marty trailing behind him.

In the doorway, Clara briefly wanted to scream. Then she remembered that this wasn't her insane husband. This was Doc, loving and sane. She collapsed into his arms, embracing him tightly. "Oh, Emmett. . . ."

"Clara!" Doc gasped, completely astonished. "Clarabelle, what happened to you? You're a mess! I thought you were downstairs with the laundry."

Seeing what a mess she was, Marty briefly forgot he was angry with her. "Hey, are you okay?"

Clara's head snapped up. Hearing Marty's voice gave her a severe jolt. She looked over Doc's shoulder to find him standing there, frowning. "Marty. . . . What are you doing here?" she blurted.

Marty's face darkened as the anger rushed back. "Jesus, Clara, I can't even feel sorry for you?" he snapped, misinterpreting her tone.

"Marty," Doc began sternly.

Marty held up his hands. "Don't worry, Doc, I'm taking a hike. Make sure she stays upright." He pushed his way past them and was out the door.

Clara stared after him nervously. Part of her wanted to yell after him to come back, but instead she turned to Doc. "Emmett, I--"

"Emmett?"

Doc's head swivelled back and forth so fast, Clara thought it might spin completely around. Standing behind him was a second Clara, holding a box of detergent. "Great Scott!"

Clara stared in shock at her other self. Suddenly all her husband had said about meeting other selves made a lot of sense. She quickly redirected her attention to the floor.

Doc stared at both his wives for a moment, then lifted Clara's head. "Where -- when are you from?" he asked quietly.

"The future," Clara confessed. "I don't know how long."

The detergent Clara (Clara 2) hazarded a look at "herself." "It looks like an especially trying future."

"You don't know the half of it."

Sunday, July 6th

1: 13 P. M.

Marty stomped away from Doc's house, a mixture of anger and worry swirling in him. He was still extremely pissed at Doc's wife, to be sure. But now he was worried too. Over the past months, he'd seen her a lot of different ways, but never that bedraggled and afraid. And there was something about the way she'd looked at him --

"Marty."

Startled out of his thoughts, Marty spun around. Doc was standing behind him, suddenly looking almost as exhausted as Clara had. Doc was looking at him very oddly -- like Marty was the Messiah, or even God himself. "Marty, it's wonderful to see you again," he whispered, almost worshipfully.

Marty stared at him, confused. "I just talked to you two seconds ago, Doc," he pointed out.

"Oh, I know, I know," Doc agreed, smiling. Something about that smile raised the hair on the back of Marty's neck. It didn't seem -- right. Normal. "But I haven't seen you in so long. I must be doing good, huh?"

Marty wasn't sure to say in reply. Doc looked like a puppy awaiting a kind word from his master. "If you think you're doing well," he finally said.

"I do, I do!" Doc's grin became even creepier. "Look at all I've done for you already!" He flung open his black coat.

Marty stumbled backward, eyes growing wide with horror. Blood covered practically all of Doc's clothes. And now that he looked closer, he could see traces of blood on Doc's face and in his hair. In fact, one whole section in the back had gone red. "Holy shit!" he gasped.

Doc nodded. "All for you," he said, actually giggling a little. "Anyone who spoke ill about you or attempted to aid that bitch who hurt you."

"That's -- that's not--"

"David's, Linda's, Lorraine's, and Einstein's. I know you didn't have any complaints about the dog, but I wanted to make sure I could kill efficiently."

The teen felt his heart abruptly stop. His family -- dead? It couldn't be!! And Doc admitting that he'd killed them??? What sort of sick, twisted nightmare is this? "You killed my family?" he squeaked.

Doc frowned, obviously puzzled by Marty's reaction. "Marty, they wanted to help Clara." He said the name like it was a slimy thing. "Or did you want to me to kill her before them? She was so damn fast, I--"

"I don't want you to kill anybody!" Marty exploded. "Clara and I have some problems, but she's your wife! And my family too?! What kind of a psychopath are you? I'm callin' the cops!"

Doc stared at him a moment. Then his face grew stormy. "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE WITH MARTY?!" he roared, grabbing the teen roughly by the throat and lifting him off the ground. "ANSWER ME!"

"Doc. . . ." Marty struggled for breath. "You're hurting me. . . ."

"Don't call me Doc. Only Marty can call me that, you impostor. You charlatan." He threw Marty to the ground. "Did that Clara bitch send you to torment me?"

Marty looked up at Doc, terrified. "Doc, I -- I am Marty."

"Liar," Doc hissed, kicking him. He whipped out the knife. "I should kill you as you lie on the ground like the dog you are."

Doc suddenly looked up. "What's that, Marty?" The perverse smiled reappeared. "How wonderfully ironic. I'll do it right now." He hauled Marty, who was trying to escape, roughly to his feet and put the knife to his throat. "I'm going to kill you where my real Marty was killed. Then Clara can kneel in your blood as she awaits her fate."

Marty was shaking. Wake up, McFly, wake up. This is all a dream. Just a very intense dream. "Doc -- Doc, please don't kill me," he begged.

"Shut up and march."

Sunday, July 6th

1: 20 P. M.

Clara 2 looked Clara over, now that she was on the window seat. "What happened to your shoulder?" she asked, sending Doc to grab a towel.

"Someone tried to kill me," Clara said, wondering how she could break the news about Doc.

Doc's eyes narrowed, a surge of anger going through his body. "Who?" he growled.

Before Clara could say anything, the door was kicked open. She sprang from her seat as her Doc (Psycho-Doc) dragged Marty in. "Why, hello, Cla--"

He abruptly noticed that, not only were there two Claras, but also another him. "--ra," he finished, baffled. "Now what the hell's going on here?"

Clara's eyes went wide as she beheld the knife at Marty's throat. For God's sake, I thought I had him figured out! "Emmett?"

Psycho-Doc snarled at her, resembling a vicious dog. "Where'd you find him?" he snapped, shaking Marty roughly. "It's an uncanny resemblance, but it wasn't enough to fool me!"

Marty stared ahead. "Doc?" he squeaked, his mind beginning to spin.

Doc didn't hear. He was gazing in horror at his insane twin. "What in the name of Sir Issac H. Newton--"

"He's lost his mind," Clara gasped, clinging to Doc's arm in terror. "He's killed three people already! He was the one who was going to kill me!"

"I'm only acting in the real Marty's best interests," Psycho-Doc replied, kicking Marty. "Which includes getting revenge on you, you murderous bitch."

Clara 2 made a slight move near Psycho-Doc, as if to get near Marty and help him. Psycho-Doc increased the pressure on Marty's throat. "One step closer, and I slit his throat from ear to ear."

Marty begged Doc with his eyes to do something. Please, help me, Doc. Don't let me die. I'm so scared. . . .

Doc got his bearings. "Let him go," he demanded impressively.

"Give me that bitch Clara and I will. Or, at least, I'll consider it." He idly rolled the handle between his fingers. Beads of blood appeared on Marty's throat as the blade nibbled his flesh. "My real Marty may not want me to make the trade."

"Don't you dare call Clara a bitch," Doc snarled, very glad his children were at a friend's today and didn't have to see this. "And don't you dare threaten my best friend."

"That's what she is," Psycho-Doc said, face flushing red. "She hates Marty. That's why she fought with him. That's why she killed him. So I would only have her, and those two bratty kids!" He grabbed Marty tightly by the throat as he gestured with the knife. "If you hadn't hurt his feelings, he would have never died!"

Clara 2 and Doc stared at Clara in shock. "What on earth is he talking about? Marty -- Marty didn't--"

Clara shook her head, shivering with the memory. "Something happened to make Marty slip, and he -- broke his neck on our counter," she choked out, leaning on Doc's shoulder.

Psycho-Doc got more passionate, waving the knife wildly. "That's right! And you're responsible! If it wasn't for you, we would have never argued! We would have never had that stupid fight! And I -- I--"

A change came over Psycho-Doc's face. The look of fury slowly transformed into one of inner torment. Unknowingly his grip on Marty lessened. "Oh, God," he cried. "I never would have done it. . . ."

Clara was afraid to ask. "Done what?" she whispered. "He just slipped."

"I PUSHED HIM!"

He released Marty and collapsed into a sobbing heap. The teen ran for safety behind Doc. "It was the stupidest thing you could think of. He challenged me to a shoving fight, and I accepted. I just wanted to give him one last push, to get in the last word. I didn't even see the milk until it was too late. It all happened so fast. . . ."

Clara saw Doc and Marty exchange a stunned glance, both their faces white. "What?"

"That's almost what happened to us," Doc whispered, horrified.

"It was today?" She put a hand to her mouth. "And I stopped it." She smiled a little. "When I came here, I stopped it."

She didn't have long to feel good about her accomplishment. Psycho-Doc had another mood swing and became enraged again. "But it was still all your fault!" he shrieked wildly, scrabbling to his feet. "And the rest of you are helping her! Now you're all going to die!"

He charged toward the group, swinging the knife. Doc, Marty, and both Claras tried to get out of the way, but Psycho-Doc was too fast. He grabbed Clara 2, slammed her to the ground, and raised the knife. Marty quickly shoved him off-balance, toward the door to the laundry-room stairs. Psycho-Doc slashed at Marty, missing only by the fraction of an inch. Doc took over and lunged at his other self, trying to get the knife from his grasp. They went down in a heap, scrabbling at each other. The Claras and Marty tried to help, but were afraid to get too close.

Psycho-Doc slashed Doc's shirt to shreds as he pulled out of his twin's grip. He laughed maniacally, almost like a bad movie villain. "See! Marty's helping me!" he sing-songed, backing up into the doorway. "You're all gonna die."

Just then, Einstein ran in, attracted by all the nosie. He trotted over to Doc and whined. "Get out of here, Einy," he whispered, getting to his feet.

Psycho-Doc giggled. "Here, Einstein, here boy," he called to the dog.

Einstein looked at his other master in puzzlement, then raced at him, snarling a little. He jumped up on Psycho-Doc, snapping. Psycho-Doc was thrown off-balance, tried to correct, and failed.

Before anyone could react, he and Einstein had fallen down the stairs.