Hi! I was a bit unsure whether I wanted to post this chapter or not. It's one of those chapters you want to post, but you hope people won't think you're morbid or anything like that…; ) Anyway, here's the next chappie. Enjoy…
Chapter 11
August 4th 1989
8:47 p.m.
Brown family home, Hill Valley
His name was whispered with the mildest disbelief. Marty had turned to face the stranger on his command, only to look at a face he recognised instantly.
His voice had sounded familiar, but coupled with the face Marty could not deny that it was him - the scientist from his nightmare. The man who had called him by name and had shown concern. The man he only knew as Doc, and who had left him alone to face the madman with the gun. The man who now stood before him holding a shotgun to his chest.
The colour in Marty's skin paled as soon as he recognised Doc from his dream. He felt the strength fall from his muscles as fear began to take over. Seeing the gun, Marty felt sure the nightmare had become real, and could only guess that his life would be over within the next few seconds.
His head felt dizzy, and his legs felt shaky. At last he could take it no more, as he started to lose consciousness and slump forward to the floor.
Doc anticipated his fall and dropped the gun to lean forward to prevent Marty from smacking his head on the cold, hard concrete driveway.
Marty saw the floor close in on him and felt his body being caught in Doc's arms. Then the darkness took over as his eyes fell shut and his consciousness disappeared once again.
August 4th 1989
9:03 p.m.
Brown family home, Hill Valley
The sound of the clocks ticking was the only thing to disturbed the silence within the entire house. Clara had sent both Jules and Verne to bed, but she knew they wouldn't be able to sleep. The night's revelations had been too 'exciting' for them, as it had been for both her and her husband. Jules had unexpectedly been keen to leave the scene – Clara had seemed bewildered by this but thought nothing more of it. The mystery surrounding the events had been enough to keep their minds pondering for the rest of the night.
Now deep in thought, Emmett sat at the dining table in complete silence while Clara filled a bowl with hot water in the sink and added some antiseptic in order to clean Marty's hands. He sat with his arms stretched out in front of him, his fingers interlaced and still as he stared into outer space. Clara studied him for a long time, before deciding that she needed some sort of answer from him just to be sure he was still with her.
"How can this be, Emmett? How can this be happening?"
Emmett didn't respond for a while. Clara wondered if he had even heard her question. She was about to speak again when she saw him take in a deep breath to answer.
"To be honest, I'm not quite sure."
That wasn't the answer Clara had expected. She had expected a long explanation or list of the possible answers. His response unnerved her a little, as it was unusual for him to be so unsure of an answer. She didn't know how to respond herself.
"Is it possible he didn't die, three years ago?" The question felt rough as Clara released it from her throat.
"I saw it happen, Clara. You told me yourself the doctors had pronounced him dead. Besides, where would he have been all this time? Why suddenly come back now?" Emmett shook his head, dismissing the possibility.
"Then what is it you're unsure of? I mean, can we then presume that this Marty is a version of himself from the past. It's the only other way he could be here now."
"I agree – to some extent," Emmett replied. Clara turned to face him, a confused frown beginning to form on her face. Emmett saw this and expanded on his reasoning. "In some ways that could be the explanation, but not all of the evidence points to that conclusion."
Clara was unsure as to what Emmett was implying. She sat in the chair across from him placing the bowl of water in front of her, meaning for him to continue.
He did just that. "Firstly, Marty appears to be the same age as when we last saw him…alive," he swallowed hard at the meaning of the sentence. "He looks to be about seventeen. This could point to the fact that it is a younger version of himself who has travelled forward to this point in time. However – then we have to ask ourselves why has he travelled to here? Is he here by accident? Is there an event about to happen that we don't know about that he wants to prevent? If the third point was to be the case – i.e. an unknown event – then we need to find out what that is, and when it will happen, etc."
"However, I'm not so sure that there's a simple answer to this," Emmett added. "One thing is, the clothes he's wearing."
"His clothes?"
"Yes. His clothes are shredded and dirty, which I don't think he would plan to travel in, unless he's been in some kind of accident. Also why did he feel it necessary to climb over the gate? Why didn't he use the intercom at the side to let us know he was there?"
"Maybe he didn't know it was there, especially if he is from another time. I would also like to know what he did to his hands. They looked an awful mess." Clara posed.
"Hmm…and the fainting spell outside – he knows me. Why would he faint as soon as he recognised me?"
"Yes, I see your points. But Emmett, I don't understand what it is exactly that you're trying to tell me. I mean, if it isn't a younger version of himself, then who else could it be?"
Emmett paused as he looked up to face her, afraid to say what he wanted to say next. Finally, he felt he needed to as his stomach once more began to twist inside. "Well, unless I'm mistaken…the suit that he is wearing…looks identical to the suit he was dressed in when he was…buried, back in January, 1986."
Clara watched him for a moment, allowing the facts he had explained to her to sink in. He knew when they had, for her eyes widened in realisation. That expression was soon replaced by one of confusion.
"If he hasn't come here from the past…how, exactly has he come here?"
Emmett once again fell silent whilst he considered his answer. "I don't know," he finally offered. "I think, maybe we should ask him that question once he comes to."
Clara nodded in agreement as she moved away from the table. She picked up a small, dry towel from the side and the bowl of water, and made her way through to the living room where Marty lay on the sofa. When he had fainted out on the driveway Emmett and Clara had felt it best to take him in and place him on the sofa until he woke up. He was heavy enough for them to carry into the living room, let alone up the stairs to a proper bed.
Clara had noted the cuts on his hands and had offered to clean them up once they had lifted him inside. Emmett had been unable to neither speak nor take his eyes off Marty for one second, as though this was a dream that he would eventually wake up from. He couldn't believe it was Marty he was touching once again, and he was reluctant to let him go for fear of losing him.
Softly she knelt beside Marty on the sofa and gently took one of his hands in hers. She placed the towel in the bowl, then lifted it carefully back out and twisted it to wring out the excess liquid. Tenderly she drew the towel over Marty's hand, slowly removing the dirt and any possibility of an infection. Clara hissed slightly when she saw the irritated areas where the cuts were located. She didn't think they were too deep, but still caused concern. She continued on, while Emmett remained in the kitchen alone to think out his thoughts and ideas. He was still in shock from the night's events.
August 4th 1989
9:23 p.m.
Brown family home, Hill Valley
The sight of the gun reminded Marty of where he was again. He was in the laboratory, facing the madman with the machine gun as he was set to kill him. Once again he was alone – Doc had disappeared from behind him as he had before after their brief conversation. The madman stood sturdily, gun in hand, aiming for his chest. The first of the bullets were released from the gun, and Marty felt the pain all over again, taking his breath away as they sliced through…
He woke with a start, making Clara jump back startled at his unexpected arousal. Beads of sweat covered his forehead and he breathed heavily to regain his composure. Clara leaned forward to pat his face with the towel she held in her hand. The water was cool, and felt good against his skin. He began to calm down, when he eventually realised that there was someone beside him. He turned to see who the mystery person could be.
"Relax, Marty. You've just had a bad dream, that's all." Clara spoke softly to ease his nerves. She could sense he still felt uneasy about the whole situation, and no doubt had many questions he wanted answers to. Emmett felt the same way.
Marty raised his hands to rub his eyes, but then found he could hardly move them. Looking down, he found his hands had been wrapped in bandages. Clara sensed the question from the confused expression on his face, and endeavoured to answer it.
"Your hands were cut, so I cleaned them up as best I could. They might be a little sore for a few days, but I don't think any of the cuts are deep. I don't think there is any infection in the cuts, but you might want to see a doctor, just in case." Marty looked worried at the words Clara said to him, which she clearly saw and smiled at. "How are you feeling?"
Marty didn't respond for a minute. He was still trying to take everything in as best he could. Scanning the room for an indication of where he was, he at last decided to speak up for the first time that night.
"Confused," he replied, his voice hoarse and sore. Clara's smile didn't fade. She had expected an answer like that. Marty frowned at her smile. "Where am I? What happened?"
"You fainted outside. Emmett and I brought you into the house. Do you remember?"
"No, no I don't," Marty forced out. He watched as Clara stood to her feet beside him.
"I think I should let Emmett know you're awake," she informed him.
Marty frowned again, but then winced from the headache that was beginning to grow in his head. "Emmett?"
Clara turned and frowned herself. She hadn't expected that question. "Yes, my husband Emmett. Why?"
"Would that be Doc you're talking about?" Marty guessed. Clara's concern began to return on her face.
"Yes, that's the nickname you usually called - call him," she corrected, turning back to head out to the kitchen. Marty watched her leave, then returned to scanning his surroundings in a desperate bid to clear the fog from his mind. Slowly he sat himself up, the headache increasing so as he did. He didn't feel sick as such, but there was an unmistakeable knot beginning to tie itself at the pit of his stomach, making him feel very uncomfortable and very uneasy about the whole thing.
Marty felt unsteady in himself. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, running them through his hair. Emmett entered from the kitchen just as he was doing this, and immediately became concerned. "Marty? Are you all right?"
Emmett sat beside him, placing a reassuring arm on Marty's back and rubbing it gently. Marty shook his head, refusing to look up in case the headache returned.
"I don't know," he replied roughly, feeling both his stomach and his head perform somersaults at the same time. "I don't know what to feel anymore."
Emmett looked at him sympathetically. It had been a rough night for everyone, especially Marty by the looks of things. He thought it best that all the questions he had in his mind were left until tomorrow. "I think you should get some rest. There's a spare room upstairs where you can sleep if you like. Once you're fully rested we can have a good talk. Only if you feel up to it though." Emmett waited for a reply, but Marty just simply nodded his head. "Do you feel nauseous at all? Dizzy, light-headed? Any other aches or such?"
"No. Just a headache." Marty reassured him. He looked up at Emmett and made eye contact. His eyes seemed bloodshot and weary, and Emmett was sure the young man looked like he wanted to cry. He didn't mention his thoughts though, knowing full well that Marty was most probably still suffering from shock.
Emmett made his way to his feet, keeping watch of Marty as he too stood in case he suddenly felt dizzy. "I'll show you to your room," Emmett politely told him. Slowly they made their way up the wooden stairs to the top; Marty held his head the whole time from his headache, making Emmett more wary over his condition. Gradually they made their way to the bedroom at the end of the hall, where Clara had prepared the bed for Marty. Emmett opened the door for him to enter, and allowed him to settle down. "If you need anything at all, just help yourself. You know where everything is." Emmett added, knowing though that he could trust Marty.
Taking one last glance to be sure Marty was fine, Emmett wished him goodnight and closed the door to. He smiled softly to himself, feeling so happy at last to have his best friend back once again, even though he did have many questions he wanted answering. Oh stop it Emmett! Just be glad that he is here once again, instead of wondering how and why all the time! Emmett scolded himself.
Marty listened as he heard Doc's footsteps disappear further down the hall. He thought about the last comment Doc had said to him over and over again, replaying like a broken record. "You know where everything is…"
The truth was, Marty didn't know where anything was. He didn't even know the name of the town he was in, let alone where the house was located. Marty felt like he was going insane, feeling the pressure on his mind constantly. Tomorrow he needed answers to try and find the missing parts of the puzzle lying uncompleted in his head. Somehow he still felt alone, even when the people around him knew who he was.
Lying back on the bed, Marty tried to dismiss the negative thoughts in order to get some much needed rest. He didn't know the exact questions Doc wanted to ask him, but he had a feeling he knew what type of questions they were going to be. And there were going to be a lot of them. Tomorrow was going to be a real challenge.