5

The thing about tyrants is, they do their best to make True Love hard to come by. I reckon True Love makes people a little less afraid, and what scary-cats want is for everyone to be as afraid as they are.

Marty slowly regained consciousness and realized that he was still freezing.

"Doc!" he shouted, sitting up with a lurch that made his head spin.

"There are no doctors here," said a quiet, refined voice. Marty looked around, his eyes struggling to adjust to the low light. He was in a dark stone room lit by a single candle sitting on a dresser. Near the candle, a veiled, robed figure was sitting on a small, dingy bed. The room had no windows, and the only door was sealed with thirteen elaborate locks. Marty realized he was still at the top of the prison tower, in the back room separated from the rest of the inmates.

"What's your name? And what crime did you commit?" asked the seated figure.

"I'm Marty McFly," said Marty. "I was trying to free the other prisoners, and I got caught."

"Noble of you," the other said kindly. "I'm Marian."

As Marty's eyes got used to the low light, he could see his cell mate more clearly. She was a vixen, wearing a long black dress, and a veil that obscured much of her face. She had a dull gray blanket wrapped around her shoulders, in a futile attempt to keep the night's chill at bay. "I'm in here for being family," she said bitterly. "The Prince is my uncle. He said he'd keep me up here to keep me safe, but I thought he'd let me out now…now that…"

At once, she broke into tears, putting her face in her hands and sobbing. Marty, who had never been very comfortable with emotions, felt at a loss for what to say. "Oh, uh, it'll be ok. My uncle Joey has been in jail for most of his adult life and he's…well, he's in very good shape. Physically."

"I'm sorry," said Marian, lifting up the veil to wipe a tear. "I'm…I'm newly widowed, and I keep…remembering things…"

"Oh! Gee, that's rough," said Marty awkwardly. "I mean…I'm sure he knew how you…uh, how did your husband die?"

Marian looked up, and her brown eyes were piercing in their anger. "My uncle, of course. Cut off my husband's head for being a traitor. As if that pretender had any real claim to the throne!"

Marty's shook his head; then a burst of nausea made him wish that he hadn't. "Aw, jeez, I'm sorry. Um…let me know if there's anything I can do. I mean, not that there's much I can do, being locked up and all, b-b-b-but I can st-st-still–" He broke off as his teeth began chattering furiously.

"It's just nice to have someone to talk to," Marian said. She looked at Marty intently. "Are you shivering? You poor dear! Here, take this blanket, I'm fine."

"I'm f-f-fine too," said Marty stubbornly. To show how fine he was, he stood up, noticing as he did so that his ankle was chained to a large and heavy ball. Being upright made Marty's head swim – he wondered if he had a concussion – so he leaned against the cold stone wall. As he did, he heard a crunch from his back pocket and realized that his walkie-talkie had been destroyed when the Rhinos had attacked.

"Aw shit," he said. He took out the pieces, but the device was clearly beyond repair. "This thing was our best hope getting out of here." Realizing that he sounded very negative, he added, "But I'm sure we'll think of some other w-w-w–" He was unable to get out the last word before he began coughing furiously.

Marian stood up. "This is ridiculous, Marty. I'm not going to have you die over some minor bit of chivalry." Firmly, she took him by the hand and sat him down on the bed. Sitting next to him, she draped the blanket over both their shoulders. "There, that's better."

Marty did indeed feel warmer almost immediately, though some of that, he thought, was due to embarrassment. "Hey, thanks." The two sat in silence for a long while, and Marty searched for something to say.

"Hey," said Marty eventually, his voice creaky from disuse. "Do you like music? I have a Walkman…er…I have a device that plays music."

Marian looked at him curiously. "Do you mean a lute? Or is it more like a fife?"

"It's…here, I'll just show you." He got out his Walkman and cranked the volume up as high as it would go, so that they both would be able to hear without putting the headphones on. He hit play and the tinny sound of REO Speedwagon leaked out.

"I can't fight this feeling any longer," sang the singer, as the piano slowly played. Marty, who had been expecting wailing guitar solos, was startled, until he realized that inside the walkman was a mixtape he had made for his last cabin trip with Jennifer. Suddenly, he felt absurdly guilty.

"Sorry," he muttered, "this song is the worst. I'll stop it…"

"No, keep playing," said Marian, entranced. "This is incredible, beautiful…how are you doing this?"

She turned her eyes from the Walkman to Marty's face, looking exhilarated and suspicious at the same time. "Is this real?" she asked cautiously. "I've heard that, in prison, the mind can…are you real?"

Marty's mouth seemed to have a hard time finding words, and he suddenly wasn't even sure how to answer her question. Her eyelashes were very long. "I think," he began, although he felt like he was thinking very slowly.

"I feel like I already forget where I'm from, you know? And this is pretty heavy, being here and all, and I was just trying to help out that kitten, and I don't even usually listen to REO Speedwagon."

"I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might," howled REO Speedwagon.

Marian appeared not to have heard Marty's inelegant monologue. She reached across and gently took his hand in hers. She smiled at him, but there was a hint of a frown in her eyes as well; she appeared to be struggling to decide something.

"You know," she said quietly, "you remind me of someone that I used to know."