"Ugh, a train!" Rosalie exclaimed as Edward slowed their red 1981 Ford Mustang to wait in the line of cars at the crossing. She was so distraught, a few teased and crimped blond hairs fell out of place.
"It's not a long one," Edward responded, peering into the distance. "This won't delay us more than a few minutes."
Much closer than the train, a flash of light appeared. And with it a chrome 1983 Delorean. Without tires, its rims clutched the tracks. As it decelerated, a teenager in a cowboy hat peered out from the driver's seat like a frightened squirrel.
"Was that there when we came here?" Rosalie asked.
"If so, I don't remember."
"We have perfect recall, Edward."
"Then that wasn't there," Edward concluded.
"Well, it won't be there much longer in any case. Look how quickly the train is coming."
"Should we do something about that?" Edward wondered. "I could rescue him so quickly, he won't even know I was there."
"Yes he will, you wannabe hero. Remember what happened last time? Listen, we've already been in Hill Valley for four years. We're about to finish high school. Do not screw this up."
"I feel like we should do something."
"Roll up the windows," Rosalie said as she switched the car's ventilation system to recirculate its inside air. "There might be blood."
Edward compiled, but glared at her as he did so. He anxiously clutched his door as he saw the teenager begin to reach for the Delorean's.
"Ah, the idiot finally figured out why everyone was honking at him," Rosalie remarked as the teenager escaped the car moments before the train struck.
"Hey, have some sympathy! He could have died."
"He's going to die in sixty years anyway," Rosalie shrugged.
"That's no longer than you've been turned," Edward responded.
Rosalie leaned back, sighed, and gestured at the raised gates. "We're still stopped!"
"That's because there's bits of sports car for a hundred yards in every direction. You can't drive over that. We'll have to wait for a clean up crew."
"You can wait. I'll run ahead."
"Let me park." Though there was only a couple feet of clearance between his car and the others in line, Edward executed a 12-point turn so quickly and precisely that the shift could barely keep up. Leaving the car parked on the side of the street, they walked toward the crossing.
As they got closer to the teenager, Edward said, "Ah, we know that boy. We've jammed with him in music club."
"You jammed with him," Rosalie corrected Edward. "He just flirted with me. His estimates of his guitar-playing ability do not match reality, especially insofar as they're likely to make him a rock star."
Edward took a deep breath as he approached the teenager: no blood, just bruises. But before he could get the teenager's attention, another flash of light: a low-flying helicopter? No, too chunky. It was the shape of a short train. But floating a dozen feet above the tracks.
Edward glanced around. The other cars had left, possibly to cross the tracks elsewhere. He and Rosalie were blocked from the UFO's view by the foliage. Whatever happened here, there would be no witnesses.
The UFO's door opened and an old man popped out. Rosalie listened to their conversation while Edward read everything at the top of their minds. The latter explained the lightning and the flying.
Edward turned to Rosalie. "Remember that Rolls Royce that was a burned-out shell of its former self? And we thought there was no way you could restore it, but you did?"