A/N: Last chapter's non-BttF Christopher Lloyd reference was the "Judge Doom" line. For those who don't know, Christopher Lloyd played Judge Doom in Who Framed Roger Rabbit.

Also, only one person (mooze) noticed Marty's middle name being Jonathan! The middle name Seamus was given to Marty in the BttF animated series, which is not always taken as canon but used by many Backie fic writers. In addition, I have a photo of Marty's driver's license (the same one he shows to Doc to prove he is a time traveler in BttF part I; it can be found at enigmasphinx(dot)741(dot)com(slash)marty(underscore)license(dot)JPG ) which reveals his middle initial to be J. While that initial was probably given as an injoke to Michael J. Fox's middle initial not standing for anything (his real middle name is Andrew, but he didn't want to be known as "Michael a fox"), I decided to be unique and use the J middle name. Jonathan was the most natural-sounding name I could find for him, so there you have it.

I must also admit that I have no idea how you go about reporting a missing person, aside from that they have to be missing for 24 hours. Apparently I managed to BS the scenario quite nicely, as no one noticed anything wrong with it.

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Chapter Five – Deal With the Devil

Thursday, April 4th, 1985
Unknown location, California
5:32 PM

Marty didn't even bother reacting as First Man stomped past him loudly. He wasn't sure what day it was anymore, between bouts of unconsciousness and the blindfold, but he guessed that it had been at least two days. His insides were twisting from starvation and his mouth was drier than a desert, not counting the blood that he still spat out occasionally. Everything ached dully, some spots more than others, and his wrists were rubbed raw from pulling at the handcuffs.

Every cloud has a zinc lining…at least they've stopped kicking me, he thought to himself, feeling his ribs throb painfully at the thought. Of course, they won't need to, if I don't get anything to drink… He vaguely recalled reading something about the human body being able to function without water for three days, or something like that. I gotta be pretty close to that…

At times like this, when the men left him alone, he wondered if he would make it out alive. He knew the police had to be looking for him by now, but his captors didn't seem concerned at all about being found. They'd even laughed about it when they found out Marty had been declared missing on public television. So much time without being able to see had sharpened his hearing, and he could barely make out the sound of a television in the next room.

"Police are still baffled by the disappearance of sixteen-year old Martin McFly, who vanished last Tuesday," a female voice reported, sounding muffled through the wall. "The sheriff of Hill Valley believes that young McFly was kidnapped, judging by the few clues found regarding his disappearance, and requests that anyone who has information regarding the whereabouts of the boy should call this number…"

Marty cringed as he heard Second Man scoff, "Foolish Americans, they are so lazy that they do not even send out anyone to look for a missing boy?"

"Then again, he is only a boy," First Man chuckled. "What do they care for one little whelp?"

Not so long ago, Marty would have insulted them right back, but the last time he'd done that, First Man had beaten him nearly senseless with what felt like the butt of his gun. Nowhere near anxious to have a repeat performance, he reined in his temper and said nothing. Just keep your head down, McFly, he told himself. Don't bother them any more than you can help it and maybe you'll get out of this alive.

He held his breath as First Man stepped closer, and for one frightening moment he wondered if the man had finally gotten fed up with him and had decided to put him out of his misery…but no, he continued on past Marty. The sixteen-year old had to stop himself from sighing in relief, lest he catch the man's attention again. He listened listlessly as the heavy footsteps passed by behind him…

…and something clinked.

Marty's attention was immediately captured by the tiny sound, one that was so quiet he wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been without sight for the past few days. Oh please, let it come again, he pleaded to anyone who was listening.

Clink!

Marty zeroed in on the origin of the sound, and realized that it was coming from right behind him, by his hands. For a moment he thought it was the chain on his handcuffs, then he noticed that the chains made an entirely different tone when they moved.

Slowly, so that his captors wouldn't become alarmed, he lowered his fingertips to the dusty floorboards and groped blindly for the origin of the noise. For a long moment, there was nothing but dirt in between his fingers, and then he bumped up against something very small and hard.

He picked it up carefully, curiosity nagging at him. He ran his fingers over it carefully, tracing the contours. It seemed to be perfectly round and a little less than an inch in diameter, smooth on one side. The other side had a tiny bar across it, with some sort of bumpy knob at one end of the bar. He frowned slightly, pushing at the little bar in hopes that it would help him figure out what it was.

The bar suddenly shifted, and he felt something sharp prick his finger. Understanding flooded Marty's consciousness. It's one of those button-pins, like they give out at rallies! he realized in amazement, an idea beginning to tickle at the back of his mind.

He pressed the pin and managed to hook the sharp point back under the clasp, and slipped the button into his back pocket somewhat awkwardly. Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight, I'm going to escape.

Marty's plan ran into a slight snag.

He waited for several hours, not daring to attempt escape until he was sure the men were asleep, but apparently they were taking shifts tonight. He could hear First Man grumbling to himself while Second Man slept, and then it was First Man's turn to sleep. Marty cursed mentally when it became obvious that he would have no idea if the man on watch was looking in his direction.

Damn. There's no telling when they'll be leaving me alone enough to try to escape… Marty sighed quietly and let his chin drop to his chest. In the meantime, he would try to rest and recover his strength.

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Friday, April 5th, 1985
Hill Valley, California
8:58 PM

Doc paced anxiously in the confines of his garage as if trying to escape the accusing stares of his clocks. Normally he was comforted by their numerous clicks and chimes, but now they only hastened the moment where he would have to choose between Marty's life and doing what was morally right.

Two minutes.

Doc had burned the photos and the letter from the terrorists out of fear of being implicated in Marty's kidnapping, but now he wished he'd at least kept one so that he'd know Marty was still alive and relatively unharmed. He fidgeted nervously, wondering if the waiting would drive him crazy before he even had to make the choice.

One minute.

It was over three days since the last time he'd seen Marty, and two days since e had heard the boy's voice. The poor boy's got to be scared shitless, Doc thought to himself. He has nothing to do with this! God, why did it have to be Marty?

Time's up.

Although he was expecting it, he still jumped when the ringing of the phone cut through the relentless ticking of the clocks. His hands trembling, he picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. "Brown." He forced his voice not to shake too badly, but his fear could not be concealed.

"No more time for thinking," the Arabic voice responded. "What shall it be, Doktour? Will our requests be honored, or do you wish us to terminate your young friend?"

Doc swallowed hard. "I…before I decide, may I speak with your captive?"

There was silence for a moment. "One minute only," the man growled, and Doc could make out the sound of a minor scuffle. "Boy, speak!" the voice demanded, a bit more distantly.

Doc gripped the telephone tighter as Marty's voice, weak and scratchy from abuse, said, "Doc?"

"Marty," Doc choked out through an unexpected burst of tears. "Are you all right? Are you injured?"

Marty coughed weakly. "I've been better, Doc. Don't know how bad off I am; I can't see."

"I know," Doc whispered sadly. "Marty, please, listen to me. I'm going to have to do whatever they want or they will kill you right away. Can you hang in there a little while longer?"

"I think so," the teenager rasped. "Don't worry about me. Just do what you have to do."

Doc swallowed hard. "Marty…I am so sorry about all this, I just can't tell you how much I wish you were here with me right now."

"Not your fault," Marty insisted, but the boy's voice was fading rapidly. "If I don't–"

Marty was abruptly cut off with another rustling sound, and the other man spoke. "Your minute is up," he barked. "What is your answer?"

Doc only hesitated for a moment. "I'll do it."

The man laughed heartily, but the sound of it made Doc feel ill. "Good choice, Doktour Brown. You will receive a package shortly, and it would be in your best interests to begin immediately."

Click.

Doc hurriedly hung up the telephone and fell backwards onto the couch, hiding his face in his hands. Oh God…what have I done?

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A/N: I was able to get another non-BttF MJF reference in here, so see if you can find it.