Author's Note: Last chapter's non-BttF reference was the "asshole with an Uzi" exchange. Imaginary cookies to everyone who got it right!

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Chapter Four – Hostage

Tuesday, April 2nd, 1985
Unknown location, California
3:44 PM

There was a clicking sound as First Man hung up the phone, and Marty swore silently even though the pain was finally lessening. Bastards… He'd missed half of what the man had said after being kicked in the face again. I hope Doc didn't hear that over the phone, he thought pensively, pulling slightly at the handcuffs again.

First Man laughed a little as he stepped closer to where Marty sat on the floor. "Well done, little dog-boy…now the Doktour knows for certain that we have you, and will comply with our demands. Yet still, he may think that we are not sincere, and I would never wish for Americans to think we are liars."

"Shall we show the young one our hospitality?" Second Man sneered in reply.

"Oh yes, we must treat him as only the best," First Man agreed, and Marty was caught unprepared as something smashed into his side. He involuntarily screamed as he heard something crack under the force of the blow. Oh God…

"Now then, don't be harming the child too much yet," Second Man said, but his voice betrayed his amusement. "After all, we need him to…what is the word? Ah yes…he must testify, to show his good friend the Doktour that we mean what we say."

First Man laughed as Marty continued to gasp in pain. "Thank you for reminding me. Let him think for awhile, then we will begin to produce proof of our…sincerity." He patted Marty roughly on the cheek in a mock-endearing gesture, and then the sound of his footsteps retreated.

Marty feel shameful tears well up his eyes, which were immediately absorbed into the blindfold. Oh God…why me? I want to go home…hurry, Doc…

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Wednesday, April 3rd, 1985
Hill Valley, California
8:38 AM

Doc hardly got any sleep that night, worrying about Marty. How can they ask me to make such a choice? he wondered in bewildered fear. I can't let Marty die, but I can't make a bomb that will likely kill hundreds or thousands of people…I'm doomed either way, aren't I? Judge Doom, that's what they should call me…

He shook his head. I have to find some way to get around this. Doc reached over and grabbed the telephone, dialing the McFly home.

It was picked up almost immediately. "Hello?" Lorraine's hopeful voice said.

"Mrs. McFly, it's Doctor Brown," Doc said, nervously twisting the phone cord around his fingers.

"Oh." Lorraine sounded disappointed, and Doc didn't blame her. "Marty hasn't turned up yet, if that's what you're calling about. I was just about to contact you, actually, but I couldn't find your number. We were just about to go down to the police station to file a…missing person report." The last bit was said with a bit of a sniffle behind it, as if she didn't want to believe Marty was missing.

Doc didn't want to believe it either. "I understand," he said gently.

"Since you were the last person to see him," the woman continued brokenly, "they'll probably want to talk to you about it. Would you…?"

"Yes, I'll meet you at the station," Doc agreed immediately, but it felt like someone was twisting a knife in his gut. He wanted to blurt out I know who has Marty, I know what they want, and it's all my fault but he managed to restrain himself. The terrorists had specifically said not to tell the police about the deal, but there was no telling what they'd do to Marty if he told the boy's family anything beyond him being missing.

Twenty minutes later, he was at the police station with Marty's parents. The police officers looked rather surprised to have a missing person case, as Hill Valley was almost devoid of major crimes and had been for many years. The McFlys had brought along a picture of their youngest son for identification purposes, and Doc described what clothes Marty had been wearing the day before when he'd disappeared.

"Let's just make sure that all this information is correct," the policewoman said kindly. "The missing person in question is a young Caucasian male, sixteen years of age, approximately five-foot-four and one hundred forty pounds, with short brown hair and bright blue eyes. Last seen wearing blue jeans, white Nike shoes with red checks, plain blue collared shirt, and a denim jacket. Full name Martin Jonathan McFly, answers to Marty. Whereabouts unknown since approximately eight A.M. yesterday morning. Is that accurate?"

"Yes," Doc confirmed, that invisible knife twisting deeper as he thought of the last time he'd seen the boy. He said he'd be back in an hour or two…I'm so sorry, Marty…

"We'll distribute his picture and description today," the policewoman told the McFlys. "I'm afraid all you'll be able to do is wait, but rest assured that we will do everything in our power to find your son."

Doc walked home, feeling like he hadn't accomplished anything at all. The police wouldn't find Marty, and he knew it. They were looking for a missing person, not a hostage. And if Doc didn't decide something, and fast, Marty would be dead by Friday.

He absently unlocked the chain-link fence in front of his garage, his mind still on Marty, but he was startled out of his anxious thoughts as he stepped on something on his doormat that hadn't been there when he left. Looking down, he spied a plain brown envelope, one edge slightly crumpled from where he had stepped on it. It was unmarked, so he picked it up and opened it as he walked inside. He tilted the envelope and caught the contents as they slid into his hand…and almost dropped them in horror.

They were photos of Marty.

Doc's hands began to shake as he realized what they were. In each one, Marty was slumped against a thick metal pole with his hands behind his back and a black blindfold tied cruelly tight across his eyes. Dark purple bruises stretched across his face and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. There were about a dozen photos in total, each from a different angle to display numerous gashes and bruises on the boy's body.

The scientist stared at the photos in shock before he realized they weren't the only thing in the envelope. He snatched up a piece of paper which held a typewritten message.

Dr. Brown,

As you can see, your friend is still alive and in our hands. He has not been cooperating and we have been forced to subdue him to give you enough time to make your choice. Choose wisely and he will be released upon delivery of our payment. Choose poorly, and your dear friend will fail to possess several body parts crucial to life.

We look forward to hearing from you on Friday.

The note was unsigned, but it didn't matter. Doc knew very well who it was from. My God…Marty…I can't let them do this to you…what am I going to do?

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A/N: This chapter, there is a non-BttF reference to Christopher Lloyd, not Michael J. Fox, because I couldn't find a good MJF one to use this time. Ah well. Happy findings!