Back To The Future IV (Back to the Future sequel and remake)
This is the story of Back to the Future IV. It is a Sequel/ Remake written by Jeffrey D. Dean. It follows the adventures...
BACK TO THE FUTURE IV By Jeffrey Dean Text Copyright © 2015 Jeffrey D. Dean, Sr.
Author's Introduction: Back To The Future IV, the Sequel/Remake is designed as both a remake and a spinoff. If it were ever produced as a movie, either the scenes from Back to the Future original used in this story would have to be re-cast and reproduced (in which case it becomes a total remake) or the scenes from the original movie can be incorporated into this story as background. This version follows the adventures of a completely different Marty Mcfly, the one who is raised by the altered parents, George and Lorraine, after the Marty from the original movie drastically changes them. This is the story of the Marty Mcfly who goes back to 1955 at the end of the first movie.
faber est suae quisque fortunae “every man is the artisan of his own fortune” PROLOGUE: October 26, 1985 around 1:20 AM .The night is still and quiet over the sleepy little California town of Hill Valley, nestled just to the east of the San Francisco Bay, near the Mt. Diablo State Park. Red, once the Mayor of this proud little city, now sleeps near the court house in a tattered overcoat on a park bench. Old newspapers his only blankets. A small portable radio plays at his feet. How have the mighty fallen? Like its former Mayor, Hill Valley has seen better days. Some of the businesses that thrived in the square have long since been replaced by such “fine” establishments as, “Cupid's Adult Bookstore,” and “Al's Tattoo Art.” The Essex Theater is now showing porn. The Old Courthouse itself no longer serves its distinguished purpose, becoming “Department of Social Services,” several years back. Red was sleeping off another bender, this was far from a new thing. He and Hill Valley have grown old together and the townsfolk pretty much leave him alone. Tonight; however, his sleep would be disturbed by two things. First, an helicopter incessantly passes over the old broken clock tower at the top of the courthouse for some inexplicable reason, periodically shining its light on the clock at the top of the tower, exposing the broken face of the ledge just under the clock. It then flies off in a southerly direction. Red stirs a bit, but this does not even come close to rising to enough of a distraction to wake him completely from his stupor. Something does, though. He feels it first as a twinge at the back of his neck, an electric tingle that quickly builds to a jolt. A strange and unreasonable hot gust of wind picks up, literally from everywhere and from nowhere. His newspaper blankets are blown clean off and they tumble down the empty street like tumbleweed. He bolts up when there is a flash of
light down the street, accompanied by an odd rushing sound, like a door opening, an interdimensional door. Blue shafts of lightning streak out from the middle of the street. Suddenly, it's there, where it wasn't before. A Delorean DMC-12. The car is unpainted, paneled and not brushed ss304 stainless steel. The stainless steel panels are fixed to a glass reinforced plastic monocoque designed underbody, which is then affixed to a double-Y frame chassis which the designer, John Delorean, derived from the Lotus Esprit platform. This particular Delorean has been radically modified, especially in the rear with what, at first glance, looked like a otherworldly jet pack. He leaped up off the park bench, stymied and bleary eyed, just as the car jumped right into the street amid the lightning and the wind. Its tires locked immediately and as if it were possible, they literally “burn” rubber down the street, leaving an actual trail of flames as it skidded and slid to the end of the block, straight into the old town theater which is now a Pentecostal Church. With a loud crash the Delorean smashed into the front of the church and rests like a lukewarm parishioner, half in and half out of the church The bewildered and befuddled old man danced and bounced next to his bed/bench struggling to focus in the direction of the mayhem. As his eyes cleared he could see the tail lights of the car backing out of the front of the Church and slowly turning around. “Crazy drunk drivers!” He grumbled, taking a swig from a bottle with mysterious contents obscured in a brown paper bag. The liquid slightly dribbled down his chin, across his unkempt wild man appearance. He swiped it with a filthy sleeve and watched the Delorean maneuver around, facing his way. “Whiskey,” he mumbled to himself, “it's not just for breakfast anymore.” He is wearing ear muffs because fall at night around those parts can be unforgiving. He just stood there, swigging and muttering curses under his breath about how it was never like this around here when he was mayor. In his still inebriated state, the odd sight of a Delorean, encrusted with ice, seemed perfectly normal. Fog rolled off of it strangely as it began to move again, then stalled. Red squinted to see the driver, who was feverishly trying to start it again. These cars were known to be fraught with electrical problems, due to the rush John Delorean had placed on production. Deloreans were equipped with “wing doors” that swung upward when opened. The driver's side now did so and a young man quickly emerged. Red knows he's seen him before. Dressed in his red quilted winter vest and faded blue jeans, Marty Mcfly exited the Delorean, hardly seeming to even notice Red, who is used to that, being that he has become a unique part of the Hill Valley scenery. Like the broken ledge of the clock tower looming behind him, no one pays much mind to him anymore. Marty looked around in amazement, not at where he is, but when he is. He cannot contain his astonishment that 30 years has just gone by in the blink of an eye. As he stood, gaping, a blue VW Microbus came racing around the corner from behind him with its headlights off. Picking up speed, it rushed past him. His eyes narrowed in dismay and helplessness as he watched it disappear around the corner, on its way to the Twin Pines Mall and its fateful confrontation with Doc Brown. Marty Mcfly curses his bad luck! Apparently coming back to the future from 1955 ten minutes early was ten minutes too late! He realized he had no choice but to run. And run he does, right past Red who shouts after him, “Crazy drunk joggers!”
It took him nearly 10 minutes to run the distance from downtown Hill Valley to the Twin Pines Mall. He arrived there completely out of breath and exhausted. He almost stopped in his tracks when he read the mall sign. It's no longer “Twin Pines Mall,” but instead reads “Lone Pine Mall.” Whatever changes he has just made to the past in 1955 have already caught up with him here in 1985. He looked frantically at his watch as he ran toward the mall sign. Sure enough, looking down at the scene below he realized that he has arrived just before he makes the time jump to 1955. So, it's odd to him that the sign would already be changed. He watches in absolute horror as once again the Libyans emptied their clip into the chest of his dear friend and mentor, Doctor Emmett Brown, the eminent scientist and recent inventor of the Delorean time machine conversion kit. Marty then heard his own voice down there in the mayhem screaming, “no, you bastards!” His eyes went wide at the sight of himself, dressed in the yellow radiation suit he had donned to assist Doc in refilling the flux capacitor with plutonium only a week earlier, and he watched as his other self runs behind Doc Brown's moving van. Instinctively he tried to run to the aid of himself, not even thinking about the consequences of that idea. The hill on which rests the Lone Pine Mall sign is however steep and in his rush he tripped and fell, rolling down the hill to the parking lot pavement below. When he recovered his legs, his eyes dart in amazement and terror as he watched the drama replaying itself. It was surreal observing these events as an outsider looking in. Marty's mind reeled. He was no expert on time travel, but it seemed to him, If the mall sign was already changed, this would mean he's now in some“alternate 1985.” Was this himself he's watching dive into the Delorean and peel away from the Libyans, or was it someone else? Another Marty Mcfly? His heart sank into his toes. Doc would know! The Delorean peeled away and the VW Microbus followed, its occupants bouncing and lurching, half in and half out of the sun roof, shooting at it wildly. The bullets seemed to just bounce off the stainless steel of the car. The rifle jammed. It looked like the Delorean might be in the clear but the man sank back into the VW bus, then re-emerged with a shoulder mounted rocket grenade launcher, aiming it at the Delorean. In a burst of speed the Delorean took off in the direction of the photo booth at the end of the parking lot with the Libyans in the van not far behind. Marty watched all of this shock and awe, this time as a spectator instead of a participant. The car is engulfed in that ethereal energy. When the DeLorean vanished, leaving behind that familiar fire trail, the shocked Libyans lost control of their van and it crashed into the photo booth and rolled over on its side. Marty now threw caution to the wind, not even knowing if the Libyans survived the crash or not, (and not really caring at the moment) he ran to check on poor Doc who was still lying motionless on the ground by his step van. He reaches Doc's side and the older man stared blankly and lifeless into the night sky. Devastated, Marty fell down next to his dear old friend, the inventor's dead body now limp. Marty began to weep. He can't bear to look and turns away. The world fell away from him for a while and he didn't even think about the burning van that once belonged to the Libyans. Finally, though he stood up and began to pace nervously. He became acutely aware that Einstein was desperately barking at him from inside the work truck. He went and opened the door.
Einstein greeted him happily. “Sorry, pal,” he said to the dog, “I guess it's just you and me now.” Not realizing what has befallen his master, the dog trotted over to Doc Brown and began licking his face. Apparently trying to awaken his best friend. Marty called to him. The dog looked up, confused, then went back to licking Doc's face. Marty called again, this time kind of slapping his side. The Dog would not leave Doc's side. Suddenly, Marty heard sirens in the distance. He looked at the burning van, then the dead body of Doc. “The time machine” he muttered, then he looked at the plutonium and his eyes went wide. “The plutonium!” He ran and grabbed the yellow case, snapping it closed, and looked back down the road at the flashing lights of several police cars and fire trucks heading his way. Einstein was now sitting next to Doc, occasionally pawing him. Marty went over to the sad scene. Kneeling down, he kissed the forehead of Doc Brown. He then stood up and tugging on Einstein's collar, gently, he coaxed the dog to follow him. They both took off, but in seconds Einstein stopped and started to go back. Unable to understand why Doc wasn't following them. “C'mon” Marty coaxed him again, “c'mon boy, I'm so SORRY!” They both looked at the approaching sirens, and perhaps Einstein sensed Marty's urgent desire to get away from them because he finally came and joined Marty. Marty began to dash across the parking lot, into the night, Einstein following closely on his heels. Behind him, back at the carnage, the police arrived and swarmed around Doc's moving van and the VW bus. Marty did not stop, nor did he look back. He had a plan. “We can always go back,” he told Einstein. “We've got a time machine, we can fix this!” They sprinted as fast as they could in the direction of town. Turning the corner near the now smashed church front, there was the Delorean still sitting there, where Marty had left it, in the middle of the street. Red was also still there, and had resumed his repose on the bench. He flipped over as Marty began to get back to the car. The former Mayor muttered his dislike of people who leave their cars in the middle of streets at all hours. Marty opened the trunk and was about to put the plutonium case in when a siren wailed and several police cars rolled in fast from seemingly nowhere. They hit him with spotlights and he put his hands up. Einstein too got up on his hind legs and put front his paws up in the air. ONE WEEK EARLIER
1. JENNIFER LOVES MARTY Marty Mcfly was excited for many reasons. Well, maybe excited was too weak of a word. He felt like the song by Timbuk3, “my future's so bright, I have to wear shades.” It was playing
on his Walkman right now as he skateboarded his way through oncoming traffic. In fact, he was wearing shades at this very moment and the song fit perfectly. The traffic whizzed dangerously around him, but there was nothing to be concerned about. He knew what he was doing. This was old hat to him. He wasn't going to get hit by any cars. The early morning sun seemed higher than usual, he chalked it off as the oncoming winter and an earlier sunrise. He timed it just right so that he was able to grab the closed tailgate of the passing gray Ford pickup. He felt the heavy vibration of the skateboard wheels zinging on the blacktop below. He went through a lot of wheels doing this, but it was quicker than pushing the darned thing around himself. He had been doing this so long, it felt like prehistoric transportation to push the board around himself. Whenever Marty had to push his skateboard, he always felt like Fred Flintstone, using his feet to move his car around. He saw the Burger King up ahead and could smell the grease of the morning breakfast wafting his way. It was odd to him how this smell always made him hungry and queezy at the same time. Just past there was Doc Brown's workshop. Doc hadn't been around much that week and it was starting to concern him. What crazy experiment was he up to now? When Marty first agreed to clean Doc's workshop and run errands for him a year and a half ago it was just a way to drum up a little gas money to take Jennifer out every now and then, whenever his dad loaned him the car. Since that time, though, Marty and Doc had become great friends. Doctor Emmett Brown was one of the coolest people Marty ever knew! The guy was truly insane, but in a refreshing, good kind of way. The kind of crazy that Marty always liked. The sky was bright and blue, the air was fresh and crisp, and there was a pre-winter chill in the air. He wore his Shott Brothers Commemorative James Dean leather, designer acidwashed jeans, and of course, his white high trainers. The blue sky and bright morning added to his already high spirits. He was not a tall kid. About 5 foot 4 inches. He was athletic in build but not “stout.” He had lighter brown hair that he parted on the side, not too long but not butch either. He was an Alex P. Keaton type (from the Television show “Family Ties). He was a good looking kid. Marty couldn't wait to tell Doc about the letter he got from the record company! This, by itself, would be enough to brighten his entire year, but it wasn't all. Any day now he expected delivery on his brand new jet black 4 x 4 Toyota pickup his mom and dad had ordered for him for his birthday! To top that off, he and Jennifer were finally going to get to go to the lake house for the weekend. They'd made the plans before but something always happened to ruin them. He had hoped to have his new 4 x 4 by then but that wasn't looking good. Still, there was no reason to think that anything would stop them this time, his father had already pledged the use of the BMW! He smiled when he thought about Jennifer. She was the perfect girl, curly reddish brown hair, dimples, beautiful lips, great body, and she was smart and supportive of his dreams! Nope, he couldn't imagine that life for him could get any better. Everything was going exactly as he always dreamed and planned it would. He let go of the green pickup as it passed the Burger King and he commenced his coast into the driveway of Doc Brown's workshop. He was pressed for time, he knew. He really couldn't afford to be late for school and this pit stop to Doc's place was risky, but he just had to know where Doc had been all week. Marty approached the doorway, reached down and pulled the key out from under the welcome mat. Inside he could hear all the clocks ticking. Going into the shop always
reminded him of the opening introduction from the song "Time" by Pink Floyd, which is the fourth track on their 1973 album "Dark Side of the Moon." He called out for "Doc" several times while he placed the keys back under the doormat. He opened the door and entered. Inside, he called out again. “Doc, hello!” He whistled and called for Einstein, Doc's best friend, some sort of sheep dog, he never knew or even asked the breed. He stepped into the workshop and looked around. There were many clocks of various kinds, all read the same time, 7:53. One particular clock that always fascinated Marty featured a man hanging from the second hand. Doc had told Marty once that it was a tribute to the film “Safety Last” starring Harold Lloyd. There were various antique clocks on shelves, hanging on the wall in several different animal shapes. Doc brown was clearly obsessed with clocks and with time itself. Marty never understood why. Also on the wall was a clip board, covered in glass with several Newspaper articles. The Hill Valley Telegraph. Headlines like “BROWN MANSION DESTROYED” and “BROWN ESTATE SOLD TO DEVELOPERS.” These all occurred a very long time ago, before Marty was even born. There were old photos, portraits of what looked like Thomas Edison and Benjamin Franklin. As Marty entered, a radio clicked on by a timer. It played a commercial about Statler Toyota. An automated coffee pot was pouring coffee onto the hot plate where the carafe should be. The liquid sizzled on the plate and was pouring onto the floor. A television came on with a timer. A female talking head reported about a recent theft of a case of plutonium. There was a picture of a yellow and black nuclear logo in the background of the report. An automated toaster burned the same two pieces of toast over and over again and an automated machine cracked eggs which fell into a pan, where a burner came on. A robotic can opener opened a can of Kal Kan dog food and emptied the contents into a dog food bowl marked "Einstein." The dog food plopped with a sickening sound onto a pile of spoiled food that was now overflowing in the bowl. The robot arm tossed the can into a trash can that was almost full of empties. Marty gagged at the sight and smell of the pile of dog food. “Shew, that's disgusting,” he grumbled as he walked past. He put down his skateboard and kicked it across the floor. He didn't notice where it rolled, and stopped, bumping into a hidden yellow box with the nuclear logo on it. Near the box was the only clock that showed a different time than the others. It read 8:20. He didn't notice it. His attention had focused on a huge amplifier with one of the biggest speakers one might ever expect to see. He headed over to it. He then found and picked up a beautiful banana colored "Erlewine Chiquita" electric guitar from a corner, strapped it on, grabbed the chord and plugged it into the amp. Reaching up, he flipped a switch marked CRM 114. In a succession of moves he quickly tripped a row of circuit breakers and other switches. Then he turned a series of dials, one by one, as the amp began to hum and crackle into overdrive. As he did so, the lack of shielding in the guitar causes a loud buzz to increase, menacingly. Centering himself on the speaker, facing it, he paused, readying himself and he then strummed the instrument in a single power chord. The speaker literally exploded. The concussion lifted him right off his feet and sent him flying backwards hard against a bookshelf. The book shelf fell on top of him, spilling its entire contents over him, covering him in books
and papers. Sitting up, he stared in awe at the destruction, the speaker now resembled an over inflated balloon that had popped. It was still sparking. He lifted up his sunglasses and, impressed with the destruction and carnage caused by his power chord. “Woah! Rock and Roll." He said. Just then a fire alarm began ringing off the wall. It was actually a telephone rigged to an alarm bell. He scrambled up quickly, searching for the phone in all that mess. He found it by pulling the phone cord and letting that lead him to it. “Hello,” he cheerily answered. “Hey, it's me,” came the voice on the other phone. It was Doc Brown, characteristically speaking hastily. He always got right to the point. “I need you to meet me tonight at the Lone Pine Mall at 1: 15 am sharp!” Marty's eyes widened. “One fifteen in the morning? What's going on?” Doc ignored the question completely and followed with his own. “Do you still have that camera I loaned you several weeks ago?” “Ya,” answered Marty. “Well bring it along,” Doc orders, “with fresh tape and make sure the batteries are good and charged this time, okay? “Sure thing, Doc,” Marty agreed. “Hey, Doc where you been all week?” “Working,” was Doc's only cryptic answer. “You left your equipment on,” said Marty, grimacing once again at the sight of the pile of dog food on the floor. Doc responded, “that reminds me, I wouldn't try to use the amplifier today there's a slight possibility of overload." Marty chuckled at this while glancing once again at the destroyed speaker and slyly said, "I'll keep that in mind." All the clocks went off at once, chiming and ringing. “Is that my alarm clocks?” Doc asked excitedly. “Ya Doc, what do you think it is?” Marty chuckled to himself. “What time is it?” Doc asked him abruptly. Marty looked around the room at all the clocks, this time noticing the one oddball that had a different time. “All but one read 8:00 am.” “Great! It worked!” Doc sounds quite satisfied. “What worked Doc?” “My experiment,” Doc explained. “They are all exactly 25 minutes slow!” The smile dissolved immediately from Marty's face. “Wait a minute,” asked Marty, panic and irritation rising in his voice, “hold the phone, Doc, are you telling me it's 8:25?” “Ya, why?” Confirmed Doc. Marty, in complete frustration, shouted into the phone. "I'm late for school!"
He then slammed down the receiver, grabbed his skateboard once more and rushed out. Once again he was back in traffic on his skateboard, using the various vehicles passing by through town to tow him to school. The drivers all seemed as though this was all par for the course here in town. As if they were used to Marty, or many of the kids in town, getting around this way. Out of habit he put on his Walkman and the song “Power of Love” By Huey Lewis and the news played. Passing from vehicle after vehicle, like a baton in a race, Marty made his way to school on his skateboard to the sound of “take me away, I don't mind, but you better promise me I'll be back in time.” Hill Valley High school was a boxy, two story, white cement structure that looked more like a prison than a school It was built 40 to 50 years earlier. At one time it was probably a magnificent structure, like a school of higher learning, now it was old, run down, almost neglected. It had large steps that ascended regally to the huge front entrance, almost resembling a long established college building. Marty skated up to it in a hurry and jumped off the skateboard. He stomped down on one end and it flew up into his waiting hand. As he ran up the steps, his red backpack he'd been carrying in one hand and the skateboard in the other he was met and waylaid by a girl, who warned him off. His girl. Jennifer Parker. A pretty young thing with curly reddish brown hair and round doe eyes and a small upturned nose. “Marty don't go this way Strickland's looking for you,” she warned him. She grabbed him by the arm and practically dragged him back down the stairs, heading for the side entrance. “If you get caught it will be 4 tardies in a row.” She said as she ushered him forward. Warily they made their way into the school with her at the lead using the other entrance. She peeked around corners, looking all directions down every hallway. Marty admired her as she did this. She was dressed in a pink soft leather jacket, tiny floral pattern blouse, acid washed designer jeans like Marty, and carried a light brown leather purse. When she decided the coast was clear she stepped into the main hallway and looked back at him. “Okay, c'mon” she said, signaling that the coast was clear. Marty joined her in the corridor, and they began to walk softly and slowly. In a low tone he explained to her why he was late. “You know this time it wasn't my fault,” he said in a tone that suggested that she wouldn't believe him. She gave him a playful look, as if to say, “oh really?” Then she smiled. They slunk down the empty school hallways that once were paved with white and black checkered marble floors but had long since been covered up by ugly linoleum tiles. Their feet were making loud patters and their voices echoed far more loudly than they liked. “Doc set all his clocks 25 minutes slow,” he finished, bitterly. “Doc?” A gruff voice barked. A balding, hawkish face man in a cheap brown suit, white shirt, with matching brown bow tie and wearing a whistle lunged out at them from where he had been hiding in wait. Mr. Strickland! He grabbed Marty by the jacket, right between the shoulder blades and he pulled them to a stop.
Marty's face drooped at the sound of Strickland's voice and at the same time his eyes blazed. He could barely contain himself. Strickland's face was only inches from his and the man had dragon breath. “Am I to understand,” Strickland interrogated, as he grabbed Marty's jacket just under the collar, “you're still hanging around with Doctor Emmet Brown, Mcfly?” His voice dripped with disdain as he said the name of Marty's older friend. Marty just looked away, holding his tongue. He never understood what Strickland had against the Doc! Strickland glared at him meanly for another second, then released his collar and turned his attention to Jennifer. He ripped a tardy slip away from its pad and handed it to her. “Tardy slip for you Ms. Parker,” he said, his tone softening. She took it, smiling, without a word. Strickland then looked down at his pad of tardy slips dramatically and said, “...and one for you Mr. Mcfly.” He slowly ripped one off, handing it to Marty as if handing out awards for student of the year. Marty sheepishly took it. “That makes four in a row,” said Strickland, sounding pleased with the idea. He then grabbed Marty by the collar of his jacket and began leading him down the hallway again. He slipped his arm behind Marty's back, fatherly. “Let me give you a nickel's worth of free advice, young man.” Marty just stared down at his shoes, not knowing how to respond, while he apathetically stuffed the slip in his inner jacket pocket, feigning concern. “This so called Doctor Brown is dangerous. He's a real nut case. You hang around with him you're going to get in BIG trouble!” “Oh, yesssir,” Marty responded, dripping with sarcasm and leering at Strickland. The enraged principal grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face him. “You've got a real attitude problem Mcfly,” he snapped, poking his finger at the youth. Marty's expression is one of shock. “Your a SLACKER!” Strickland accused. In the short moment of silence that followed, the two teens just stared at Strickland. Jennifer's expression suggested she believed Strickland was way out of line and Marty's was that of restrained indignation. Strickland was over middle aged, perhaps in his mid 60's. Not a large man but very formidable in appearance. His completely bald, wrinkly head, coupled with a hawk like nose lent him a trollish visage. The wrinkles extended from his forehead to the crown of his head and then downward to the base of his skull. He lowered his voice, hissing like a viper. “You're a disgrace, Mcfly! You're not even half the man you're old man was when he went here.” “Ya I know,” says Marty rolling his eyes, he'd heard this lecture before. “Valedictorian, president of his class, a real pleasure to teach, bla bla, you've told me.” Marty looked at Jennifer. “You know, Jennifer, I think Mr. Strickland might secretly have a man crush on my father!”
Strickland balls up his fist as if to hit Marty. Marty glares at him defiantly. Strickland stiffens, then regains his composure. There's an awkward silence. “Can I go now Mr. Strickland?” Asked Marty, in disdain. Strickland leans his head back, reaches out and grabs Marty with both hands by his jacket and pulls him in closer. Marty Winced. It was almost as if Strickland knew he had bad breath and used it as a torture device. Living up to his name “strict” land (as the kids called him) he had a way of shouting without raising his voice hardly at all. He had honed it over decades of overseeing the education of countless teenagers. "I saw your band is on the auditions roster for the school dance,” said Strickland. “Why even bother Mcfly? You don't have a chance!” Indignantly Marty answers, “it could happen.” “Keep dreaming,” Strickland continued, “you're nothing like your old man! Even if you managed, by some miracle, to win the audition...” Strickland leans in, his nose is almost touching Marty's nose. “You'll be the first Mcfly in the history of Hill Valley to never amount to anything!” Marty stuck his hands in the pockets of his leather and said defiantly, "Ya well, we make our own history.” * * * * * * * * * * That afternoon Marty entered the gymnasium with Jennifer at his side, looking confident as ever. A band was just finishing their audition. Four judges sat together on chairs in an otherwise empty room facing the stage. Lifting a megaphone, a geeky looking man in a ridiculous plaid suit and huge horned rim glasses shouted into it. “NEXT, PLEASE!” Marty and his band got up on stage. Marty plugged his guitar in as his band members took their places. He stepped to the microphone while strapping on his guitar. Nervously, he introduced the band. “Hi,” he stammered, “we're called The Pinheads.” The panel of judges, looking unimpressed at the name, all simultaneously make notations on their clip boards. The band is readying and Marty turns to them, whispering encouragement. “Remember what we talked about,” he coached, “this is a High School dance, keep the volume down to a dull roar will ya?" With that they launched into the the first few bars of “power of love” by Hewey Louis and the News. Jennifer giggled with glee, her hands to her mouth, and her hips swaying lightly to the beat. She clearly loved their music. The other bands were looking up in amazement, impressed by their unique sound. Marty launched into a tasty hot lead lick! The panel of judges, however just stared, frowning heavily, their hands clasped tightly in their laps, on their clip boards. The man with the megaphone looked at the man to his right.
A younger man who was not only frowning but looked like someone was boring a drill into his skull. Megaphone man's expression seemed to say, “okay, I've heard just about enough of this.” They didn't get much more than a minute into the tune when megaphone man stood. He placed the huge megaphone to his mouth quickly. “Okay, thank you.” He shouted into the megaphone, barely being heard over the din of the music. They kept right on playing, obvlivious. So looked at the megaphone, cranked its volume know (looking quite irritated) and then he shouted a little louder into it. “Hold it, now, hold it, that's enough, thank you, thank you!” They stopped playing. The man continued to speak into the megaphone even though it was now deadly silent. “I'm afraid you're just too darned loud!" The only thing louder than Marty's band was the sound of those words echoing throughout the entire school so everyone could hear. Marty's countenance fell. His band members were downcast and downtrodden as well, but Marty quickly recovered. He turned to them. “Don't sweat it guys, what do they know anyway?
* * * * * * * * * * Not much later, he and Jennifer walked past the old courthouse. A huge brick structure with high roman columns that went straight up to a large clock tower at the top. It was no longer a courthouse, however, having long ago been converted into the Social Services Office. A white van drove around the square painted with campaign slogans. “RE-ELECT GOLDIE WILSON.” The smiling profile of the beloved mayor of Hill Valley plastered all over the side and back of the van. Band music played from a loud speaker mounted on the top of the van (Blues Brother's style). “Re-elect Mayor Goldie Wilson,” a recording blared, “progress is his middle name.” Marty had forgotten all about their disappointment at the audition. As they made their way into the village square, which was once a plush grassy park, but was now just a parking lot, he excitedly read from a letter he had just received. “Dear Mr. Mcfly,” the letter began, “thank you for your submission. “We were very pleased with what we heard...” Marty's voice raised with excitement as he read the word “pleased.” Jennifer squeezed his arm, looking thrilled. He continued reading. “...and we believe that your band has great potential.” He stopped and looked into Jennifer's eyes. “Told you,” she said gleefully. They continued to walk across the square as he read. “...you definitely have a bright future and we would like to be a part of it. Give us a call at
the number below and make an appointment. We must sit down with you and the rest of your band to discuss this brilliant future more in depth. Sincerely, Big Mac, President of Mac Daddy Records.” He slapped the letter and stopped reading, chuckling. "He's named after a hamburger but he's obviously got great taste in music!" Jennifer hugged his arm again. "Aren't you glad I convinced you to send that demo to a record company?” He smiled, putting the letter away. “I don't know what I'd ever do without you?” He sounded almost facetious. She squeezes harder on his arm. "You better remember that mister! When your famous some day and you start to think you don't need me anymore!" Marty stopped and looked deeply into her eyes, and in a most sincere tone said, “that's NEVER gonna happen." They walked together some more. “Don't you forget me,” said Jennifer, “when you're rich and famous.” He scoffed. “There's more of a chance of you forgetting me!” “Nonsense!” She said, pouting. “You're going to make it, and then no one in Hill Valley will forget your name, not ever!” She held both his hands and said, "It's like you always told me, what Doc Brown says, that you can accomplish...” He finishes her sentence, "...anything if you just put your mind to it, ya...” As he said this, two pretty women dressed in tights and workout clothes head past them on their way to the aerobics studio, which used to be Lou's Diner. Marty's head is turned by this as he finishes Jennifer's sentence. His gaze continued to follow them. Jennifer reached up and firmly grabbed his chin, pulling his head, she steered it away from the girls. Through almost clenched teeth she said, “that's good advice MARTY!” “Ya, ya,” he replied, embarrassed, “but he also says never count your chickens before they hatch.” Suddenly it dawned on him how that must sound in light of what just happened. He looked at her nervously. Her eye brows are knit together. “...Because...” he tried to recover, “the future is not written yet and anything can happen.” Jennifer's eyes go wide. “OH really?” He looked extremely uncomfortable now, realizing he only made things worse. "Doc Brown isn't right about everything," she quipped. He frowned and looked deep in thought. "Ya, well, actually he is,,” replied Marty, “or sometimes it seems like he is. It's uncanny. He always seems to know what's going to happen before it even happens. He's like some crazy wizard.” She laughed. "A crazy white haired wizard... sounds familiar.” Marty chuckled. "He's Gandalf, I get it, so I guess that makes me Frodo?" She laughed again and squeezed his arm again as they walked.
"You're the right height," she teased him, looking out of the corner of her eye. "Ya?" He asked incredulously. "Thanks a lot!" As he said this his attention was drawn away yet again. This time to across the street. He climbed up on the park bench to get a better look. “Check it out, my 4 X 4!” He gestured to where a red 4 X 4 Toyota pickup was being pulled in on a trailer at the Texaco Station. It had a banner on the side that read, “ANOTHER CUSTOM 4 X 4 from STATLER MOTORS.” Jennifer squinted at the truck. "Someone else ordered the same truck as yours? Marty nods. “Only it's a red one.” He appeared upset. “That sucks!" He looked down. Jennifer is confused. “What, that someone else has the same truck as you? That was bound to happen Marty.' “No!” He responded. “I wonder why mine hasn't been delivered yet? I was hoping we could take it to the lake. He pulled her up to stand with him on the bench. “There's still time,” she offered. “Wouldn't it be great?” He asks her coyly, pulling her in closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Take that truck up to the lake?” She blushed a little. “Throw a couple of sleeping bags in the back...” He sat down and pulled her onto his lap and ran his hand across her abdomen. She looked away, smiling in embarrassment then grabbed his hand and pushed it away. “Stop it!” She scolded. “What?” He asked, feigning innocence. “I guess we'll have to settle for my dad's BMW.” he sighs. “At least they already gave me permission to take it, in case the truck doesn't come on time.” He looked wistfully in the direction of Statler motors, as if he might see his truck now, being pulled into the lot. Jennifer looked a bit worried. “You told your parents? About the lake? That means your mother knows?” Seeing her terrified expression he tried not to chuckle. “Relax! Don't worry about it," he assured her, “I told you, my Mom's cool! “ He squeezed her arm the way she always squeezed his and she leaned in. “She thinks you're a "peach,” he said, exaggerating the word for effect while pinching her left cheek. She pulled her head away, slowly, and smiled wickedly. “That's because she sees me as respectable." Smiling wickedly, Marty said, "well, we better make sure she never finds out the truth then!" Jennifer giggled and punched him on the arm with a grin. They were about to kiss when they were rudely interrupted by a unicef style donation can
being shoved in between their faces and rattled by an older woman with her hair in a tight bun, wearing large square rimmed glasses. “Save the clock tower! Save the clock tower!" The woman shouted at them as if they were across the square from her. “Mayor Wilson is sponsoring an initiative to replace that clock tower!” She gestured behind them toward the court house and the ancient clock. They turned, following her gesture, and looked at the clock tower while she continued with her pitch. Marty stared at the damaged ledge. “Thirty years ago,” the woman continued indignantly, “lightning struck that clock tower and the clock hasn't run since.” Marty turned back toward Jennifer, grimacing and biting his lip. He wondered why she thought that they would care about some broken old clock tower. Almost as if reading his mind she defended, speaking in a tone that suggested she was talking about saving a living thing from being executed. “We at the Hill Valley preservation society think it should be preserved exactly the way it is, as part of our history and heritage!” Marty commented. “At least he could fix that broken ledge right?” She shook her head as if he were suggesting something unthinkable. “What happened there anyway?” He asked. “Lightning didn't do that to the ledge!” “It happened the same night,” she said in hushed tones, as if telling a ghost story around a campfire. “No one knows for sure how it happened, but some say that crazy Doc Brown was lurking around the clock tower that night, performing some weird weather experiments.” She wrinkled her nose. “He's always lurking around in parking lots and such doing God knows what late at night!" Marty's eyes grew dark at this. "Listen, you don't know what you're talking about, Doc's not like that!" She faltered, seeming at a loss to know how to respond. He angrily put a penny in the Unicef can to emphasize his point. “Don't spend it all in one place,” he said sardonically. "Thanks a lot," she replied dryly, handing him a flier that says “Save the Clock Tower.” She then ran off to find more reasonable prospects, other unsuspecting potential donors who might be passing by. Jennifer was chuckling at the penny stunt. “That was kind of mean” she said. He looked at her defensively. “But justified,” she added. “Where were we?” Marty asked. “Right about here...” she said warmly, leaning in to kiss him. Again, they were interrupted. This time by the beep of a horn. It was Jennifer's father in an AMC Eagle station wagon. He had arrived to pick her up. “I'll call you later,” said Marty as she headed off. She stopped and turned. “Oh, I'll be at my grandma's.” She ran back and grabbed the
flier from him and used the folder she'd been carrying to write down her grandmother's phone number. He stares at her hair while she was doing it, looking disgusted, thinking about the kiss he just missed out on... twice in a row. When she was done, she handed him the flier and said, “bye.” Then she leaned in and they kissed. The horn honks again. She turned and ran once again toward her father's car, who is now glaring at Marty with the look that can kill. Marty watched her leave then lifted up the flier and read the number she wrote. Below the phone number it read, “I love you.” He smiled and sighed in satisfaction. Marty stared at the note a few more seconds, looked up and watched as Jennifer and her dad drove away. As they passed Marty the father took his two fingers of his right hand, pointed at his eyes, then pointed menacingly at Marty with those same two fingers. Marty just brushed that off, stuffed the treasure in his pocket, got back on his skateboard and turning, he grabbed the bumper of a police car that is pulling away and hitched a ride.
2. THINK BIFF, THINK! As dusk fell like a reverse dawn, Marty skated past the entrance to the run down suburb of Lyon Estates subdivision where he lived. The stone pillars on each side of the street were marred by time, neglect, and graffiti. He grabbed the back of a green car as it passed him and was towed all the way to his house. When he arrived, he let go and coasted toward his driveway. His house is a modest ranch style home, one of the oldest models here. His parents could have purchased a newer and much nicer home long ago, with his father's very successful writing career, but his parents claimed there were just too many fond memories there. Even though it's one of the oldest houses in the neighborhood it's still one of the finest and best maintained. His dad's BMW was in the garage, immaculate as ever, but what he was looking at is the brand new 4 X 4 pickup truck someone had just let down from a tow vehicle. He stopped to admire it. Elated. "It's here!" He exclaimed in excitement, spreading his hands across the tailgate as if hugging it. "I can't wait to take this baby out to the lake!" Suddenly he noticed a pasty faced man with slick oily hair and a 5 o' clock shadow was feverishly rubbing hard on it in one spot with rubbing compound. He looked like a homeless bum cleaning windshields for money and mumbling to himself. Angry voices started to waft out from in the house, but he was too busy glaring now where the man was working. It was a huge scratch! “What happened to my new truck?" He demanded. The man responded curtly, “I'm not sure, I just work here.” Marty noticed there was alcohol on the man's breath. An outraged Marty took on an accusatory air. “That looks deliberate! Like someone keyed it!!! " He turned and jogged toward the house, calling out as he did. "DAD!" As he got to the screen door he could see his father, George Mcfly, who stood in the
doorway to the kitchen, leaning on the threshold, wearing a nice plush smoking jacket with a college emblem on it, well pressed khaki pants, and high end leather loafers. Not a hair was out of place, as usual. George was not your typical man in his late forties. Life and the advantages of success had been good to him. He was slim, trim, athletic. Tall, dark and handsome with chiseled features and soft soulful eyes. There was just the slight trace of acne scarring from his younger years but it was hardly noticeable. George and Biff, their auto detail guy, were having an intensely heated conversation. Biff was wearing his usual loose running suit. Tonight it was gray. Biff was once taller than George, now he walked around hunched over. He hair was graying. He had a paunch as well. He just reminded Marty of a big white haired orangutang. Marty burst in through the door to interrupt them. "Dad, I think you better come out here and take a look at this, someone..." His father held up a hand to silence him and he shut up. “I'm really sorry for this, Mr. Mcfly," Biff blustered what sounded like a completely incnsere apology. "I swear it was an accident, I never noticed that tow truck had a blind spot before now." "A blind spot?" George Mcfly scoffs. "Biff, are you kidding me, that's the best you can do?" Marty slapped his hands on the counter nearby and turned back to look out the screen door in disbelief at his damaged brand new truck he has never even driven yet. George continued ripping into Biff. "You've always got some story or excuse, Biff!" "I'm really sorry Mr. Mcfly,” said Biff, insincerely, (or so it seemed to Marty, anyway). “It's no con, I swear." "Now Biff, " George moves closer to him and pointing out at the direction of the front door and the damaged truck outside. "Can I assume that your company is going to pay to get this fixed?" "I thought Marty's insurance would cover it?" George grew irritated. "Hello! He exclaimed in sarcastic tones. "Think Biff! Think! if I claim this on Marty's insurance his rates will go through the roof, they might even cancel him on the policy, you wouldn't want that to happen just to save yourself a few bucks, would you?" There's a pause, as Biff appears to weigh his answer. The big man gave Marty a sly sideways glance and Marty stiffened. George became just a bit more forceful. "Well, would you?" Biff stammered, "well, now, of course not, Mr. Mcfly, you know I wouldn't want that to happen!" Marty scowled at this middle aged weasel. George didn't let him off the hook that easily. "Well you know this is no laughing matter, Biff, I paid a fortune for that vehicle and Lorraine and I wanted it to be perfect for Marty!" Biff looked truly remorseful now and said to Marty, "I'm really sorry, Marty." Marty folds his arms and says nothing, leaning against the wall. He suspected Biff missed his calling as an actor.
Biff said, "I have my best body man out there right now!" Marty scoffed. "Rubbing compound? That's not going help that scratch." "I know it's not" he started to growl, then checked himself. He turned to George again. "Mr. Mcfly let me take it back to the shop tonight. We'll work on it all night if we have to and I swear it will be right as rain by tomorrow morning." He looked at Marty. "Just in time for your trip to the lake!" Marty is skeptical. "I don't know, I don't trust your friends, Larry, Mo, and Curly" he said finally. Biff frowns. “Those buttheads couldn't fix a race if they were running it themselves!” He exclaims. “No, I mean that my best mechanic is out there right now and he can do it, I swear!“ George looked at Marty quizzically. “It sounds like a good plan, son?" Marty is still not convinced, "ya but Dad, my new truck!" George comforted him. "I know son, but Biff says he'll have it fixed by tomorrow so you can go to the lake. You want it to be perfect right? For Jennifer?" Biff waited with baited breath for Marty's approval as George advocated for him. Marty thought it over some more. Then, reluctantly shrugged in agreement. “What real choice do I have?” He asked, despondently. Biff smiled and apishly bounces. George turned to Biff. “Okay, Biff but this seems like it's worth six months free wash and wax for both our vehicles for all of our trouble!” Looking downward submissively Biff agrees. "Sure thing, Mr. Mcfly, whatever you think is fair.” George followed Biff's gaze to the floor then pointed and said, "hey Biff, your shoe's untied! Biff looked down. "So it is, thanks." He bent down to tie his shoe. “Don't be so careless Biff,” George lectured him, “you could fall and break your neck! “ Then to Marty. “When we were kids Biff was always getting into accidents. “ He turned back to Biff. “How many times did you crash your car into a manure truck in High School, Biff?” Biff stopped tying his shoe, remembering bitterly. "Once.” George frowned. "I could have sworn it was two times!" As Biff was finishing tying his shoes, he just sort of glared at Marty with almost an accusatory expression. Marty shifted uncomfortably. Then he quietly appealed to George. "Dad, he's giving me that creepy look again." His shoe now tied, Biff jumped up, embarrassed. "Oh, I wasn't looking at you? I was just deep in thought about something else, sorry. " Marty frowned. George made a "let it go" gesture with his right hand at Marty and shook his head.
Biff headed out the door, saying goodbye as he went He bounced past Marty, and as he did, he said to him, nonchalantly. “Hey Marty, say hello to your mom for me.” He then ran out the door. George stared after him with a look that seems to say, "pitiful.” After he left, George closed the front door while shaking his head. He saw his son's still angry stare. "You'll have to excuse him," George actually apologized for Biff. “He had that head injury when we were young.” “Ya, I know in the fire, I remember you told me.” George continued to defend him, emphatically. “Ya in the fire and he also had other accidents.” They stood there watching Biff leave. He gave his mechanic a smack across the back of the head. Then they both climbed into the tow truck. Looking out at them George said, sadly. “He's never been completely right in the head even before he wasn't 'right in the head.' Marty frowns. "He's an asshole dad!" George couldn't deny it. He nodded, then smiled, ruffling Marty's hair. "Well, when you're right, you're right son." He looked over to see Lorraine standing in the other doorway leading to the living room. Lorraine was a bouncy brunette, same age as George, but also like George she did not look her age. Her hair was a bit darker than Marty's hair. She wore it short. They say that boys somehow end up dating girls that are like their mother and in this case it was true. Lorraine and Jennifer Parker had many things in common physically. They could have been mother and daughter. Lorraine was slim and athletic just like George. They often played Tennis together at the country club and even played golf on couple's weekends. She was normally cheery. She just lit up a room whenever she was there. “Well, he's right!” Said George to Lorraine. She nodded. “Biff's a butthead!” Marty and George share a look and Marty raises his eyebrows. “Dinner's ready,” Lorraine announced, “so go wash up, both of you.”
* * * * * * * * * * That evening the family sat down for dinner - George, his wife Lorraine, and their children Marty, Dave, and Linda. Dave was tall and dashing, like George. He was about 5 years older than Marty. He was a certified accountant at a major firm. He managed the northern California branch. He was still wearing his tie, but he had hung his tweed suit coat in the closet when he came in. His hair was always perfect, like George. Linda was a computer programmer for IBM. She was on the fast track. She looked like Lorraine, but had George's square jaw. She was well built for a woman. Marty often thought his sister reminded him of Ricki Lake. He would only tell her that when he wanted to tick her off, though, she hated being compared to her. She was a serious business woman and future
entrepreneur. She was very popular with the men, however, and had made no qualms about it. The family dining room was gorgeous. Beautifully decorated with great lighting. There is a white piano behind them against the wall. At the table, Marty sat fidgeting with Doc's portable VHS recorder. “What are you doing with that?” Linda enquired, a bit irritated. “I'm going to use it later,” he replied, still playing with it. “Maybe make some memory magic.” He holds up the camera as if shooting, pointing it at her. She didn't appear amused. Marty sensed this and put it down, instead turning his attention to his mother as she walked into the room from the kitchen carrying a cake. Sadly she plops it down on the table in front of them. The writing on the cake reads: 'Welcome Home, Joey,” next to a picture of a bird flying out of jail. "You children might as well enjoy this cake for dessert," Lorraine said, woefully, "your uncle Joey won't be joining us tonight after all.” "I thought he was acquitted of all those charges!” Said Marty. George chimed in. "Of course he was acquitted! It cost me a fortune for that shyster lawyer, the best criminal defense attorney in California! What went wrong this time?” Lorraine patted George's hand. "He was released, dear, but then he went out to celebrate and punched a cop in a bar room brawl.” George shook his head in total disgust and then went back to watching an old rerun of “The Honeymooners” on a huge console television set. Dave was also watching. Marty, talking with his mouth full noted, “Geez mom, you'd think he liked it behind bars!" "Don't be silly" she replied. But then, thinking about it, she lowered her head and nodded. “He's such an embarrassment,” Linda complained. Lorraine continued to make excuses for her jail bird brother but Marty wasn't listening, he was watching his father. Dave and George were both laughing together at the screen. George with that same nerdy laugh he often used when he wasn't thinking about it. Marty marveled how incongruous it was. The normally suave, debonair George Mcfly, pointing and laughing like a nerd. It was so odd, in fact, that Marty decided to film it. As he did, Linda suddenly remembered something. “Oh, by the way Marty, while you were pouting over your truck, Jennifer Parker called two times.” Lorraine smiled at the mention of Marty's girlfriend. "I really do like that girl. She's got moxy, like I did when I was her age ... although,” she reconsiders, “I wouldn't have chased boys.” She then looked quizzically at Linda, who was now glaring at her and added, “but that was a different time!” “I don't know how you ever met boys or went out on dates if you never called boys.” Lorraine stared adoringly at George who was still half watching the TV show and eating at the same time. "It was just destiny." She said dreamily. "That was so stupid!" Linda objects. "Dad beat up Biff poor because he pushed you
down or something and you both ended up falling in “love.” The word “love” drips with mocking sarcasm. Lorraine stared at George adoringly, who is still snorting at the TV show with Dave and doesn't seem to notice her look at all. "Your father was like a knight in shining armor that night. “ Marty was still periodically picking up the camera and filming. “So,” Linda continued her critique, “dad ends up beating up poor Biff, who never hurt anyone, at the “Fish Under the Sea Dance, and you are so turned on by this you ask him to dance!” Dave corrected her, "Enchantment Under the Sea Dance, you NINNY!" "Ya, whatever," she said, taking a bite of cake. “Watch your mouth” Lorraine warned Dave, “don't talk to your sister like that.” “Whatever,” Dave muttered, turning back to the television. Linda continued her rant, “...and then you started having second thoughts. Until a month later dad saved someone from some big huge fire and got a medal or something!” Lorraine interjected at this point. “It was a lot of people he saved young lady and it was the key to the city, not a medal.” She stopped, remembering. Then, to George she said, “although I never got a straight answer what you were doing that far out of town that night. How did you ever see that fire and run in and save everyone? “ She waits for an answer. He ignored her, still watching the show. “George?” George still doesn't seem to hear her. “George?” She asked a bit louder. He turned to her, “hmm, what was that?” (It was almost as though he were pretending not to hear the question). “Never mind,” she said, “it doesn't matter. Then she turns back to Linda. “Once I saw what a true hero your father was I knew this was the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with.” Linda rolls her eyes. “That doesn't sound like destiny, it sounds more like "dense-ity!" George and Lorraine stared into each other's eyes romantically . George chimed in on the story, dreamily, still looking into his wife's beautiful eyes. “You should have seen your mother at the dance! Every guy there was jealous of me because I was with the most beautiful girl in Hill Valley. They kept trying to cut in but I wouldn't share her." Lorraine smiled, remembering the scene. George got up and moved over to her and she jumped up to him. They began to passionately kiss. The kids all practically choked. Dave objected. "We're still trying to eat here." He quickly looked at the clock and and his eyes went wide. He jumped up and announced that he's got a hot date, as he moved around
the table, squeezing past his dad, and kissing Lorraine on the forehead. He whispered, "maybe next year, mom.," (gesturing at the cake). She lovingly patted him on the arm. Then he looked at George with raised eyebrows. "Really Dad, you two should go get a room or something!" George looked quickly at Dave like he said something unexpected and very clever. He started to laugh that same nerdy laugh again. As Dave walked toward the door George is still pointing and laughing. "Go get a room!" He echoes. "You go get a room!" Reaching into the closet to get his suit jacket, Dave turned around and slyly said, "I intend to,” he raised his eyebrows a couple of times as he put his jacket on. George laughed even harder at this as Dave walks out the door. Marty, once again, was filming.
3. DOC, YOU DISINTEGRATED EINSTEIN! Marty was asleep in his cluttered room later that evening when he was awakened by the phone ringing. “Hello,” Marty answered, groggily. “Marty, you didn't fall asleep, did you?” It was the voice of Doc Brown. Marty jumped up and looked at the clock wondering if he missed his appointment at the Mall. “No, no, Doc I was just getting ready to go,” he lied. “Marty,” Said Doc, knowingly, “don't forget to bring that camera with you, it's vitally important!” “Sure thing, Doc,” replied Marty. “I'm on my way.” He hung up and jumped out of bed, pulling up his suspenders. He grabbed the camera and his skateboard,, threw on his leather jacket, and scurried out of his bedroom window. So as not to wake anyone. About 30 minutes later, Marty showed up at the Lone Pine Mall on his skateboard carrying the camera. It was beautiful night. The stars were out but it was a bit chilly. The parking lot below the mall sign was pretty much deserted. There was never anyone around this early in the morning. Which is probably why the Doc chose this locaction. Marty skated past the sign and stared down the hill into the parking lot. There was a large moving van and a truck in the parking lot below. He made his way down there and approached, almost cautiously.. Einstein ran up to him, “Einstein,” Marty happily patted the dog on the head, “hey Einstein, where's the Doc, boy, huh?” Just then, the back of the step van opened slowly. An eerie fog rolled out of the truck and out of the fog rolled what appeared to be a souped up Delorean DMC-12. It backed down the ramp seemingly on its own, then the driver's side wing door opened and out stepped Doc dressed in some khakis and an Hawaiian shirt, covered by a white jump suit. Doc brown was tall and lanky, especially standing next to Marty. He was a bit older than
Marty's parents, perhaps in his 60's. He had wild hair. Pure white and shooting out in all directions, like Einstein's. Not Einstein the sheep dog, but Einstein the scientist after whom the sheep dog was named. Doc had a crooked nose, straight long face, jutting forehead, and deep penetrating eyes. “Marty you made it!” He said, excitedly. As if there really was some doubt of it. “Ya,” Marty responded, almost in an agreeable tone. “Welcome to my experiment,” he gushed, "this is it, the big one, the one I've been waiting for all my life.” “Um, well is that a De....?” Marty gestures at the car. “Never mind that now, never mind that now.” Doc cut him off rudely. Then, he softened, apologetically. “Bare with me, Marty, all of your questions will be answered in due time.” He made a rolling sign with his hands. “Roll tape, we'll proceed.” Marty puts the camera to his face and focuses. “Alright, I'm ready.” Looking quickly at his watch Doc begins. “Good evening, I'm Doctor Emmett Brown. I'm standing on the parking lot of The Lone Pine Mall. It's Saturday morning, October 26, 1985, 1:18 a.m. and this is temporal experiment number one. “ Doc calls to the dog, Einstein and the pooch runs happily to him. “C'mon, Einy,” Doc coaxed the dog into the Delorean, “hey hey boy, get in there, that a boy, in you go, get down,” he sat the dog in the driver's seat, “that's it.” Marty, a bit taken aback commented, “whoa, whoa, okay.” In a completely unexpected move, Doc placed the dog, Einstein, into the driver's seat of the Delorean and buckled him in. He lifted up a watch that was hanging on a chain around the dog's neck and held up a similar watch. “Please note,” Doc continued in his official tone, “that Einstein's clock is in complete synchronization with my control watch.” “Check,” said Marty. Doc strapped the dog into the seat belt. “Good. Have a good trip Einstein, watch your head,” he closed the wing door. Then he whipped out a remote control from seemingly nowhere. Marty was once again taken aback. “Is that a remote control?” Doc only nodded, then used the remote control to drive the car across the parking lot some distance away. When it reached the end of the lot, he spun the car around to face them and locked the front breaks on the vehicle. With another flip of a switch the back tires begin to spin faster and faster as they squeal and the rubber burns in place on the asphalt. “Watch this.” Said Doc, excitedly. Marty was getting visibly nervous, obviously worried that Doc was about to do something really stupid with that car, with Einstein still in it. His camera drifted to film Doc again but Doc interjected. “Not me, the car, the car.” Marty quickly turned the camera back to the Delorean. If my calculations are correct...” Doc said intensely, staring down at the remote, and continuing to play with switches. He looked up at Marty dramatically. “When this baby hits 88
miles per hour... we're going to see some serious shit!" He switched off the brakes! Free now, the Delorean excelled rapidly, right toward them! Marty tried to inch his way out of the car's path but Doc gave him a disapproving look and he sheepishly and reluctantly rejoined him, right in the path of the careening Delorean. He clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes tightly shut, turning his head, bracing for the impact. Instead, however, a bright light quickly emanated from deep within the center of the Delorean, spreading outward like colorful lightning, surrounding the vehicle and engulfing it. Before the car could hit them,it flashed like the sun then... it vanished in an instant, leaving nothing but two burning fire trails on either side of them where the tires would have traveled had the vehicle not vanished. Standing in the midst of the fire trail, Marty looked back behind them, gaping in amazement and horror. Where the Delorean should be, all that is left is the license plate which ironically reads "outatime,” spinning there in the center of the car's fiery wake. The plate fell to the ground with a series of clanks. Doc cheers like a madman! “What did I tell you? EIGHTY EIGHT MILES PER HOUR!!! Grinning and dancing around he stared at his watch again. “The temporal displacement occurred at exactly 1:20 a.m. and zero seconds!” He sounded truly pleased with himself. Marty just stared in horror. He can't believe his ears nor his eyes. “Hot, Jesus Christ!” Exclaimed Marty, looking at Doc in utter dismay. “Jesus Christ, Doc, you just disintegrated Einstein!” “Calm down Marty,” Doc said assuringly, “no one disintegrated anything! The molecular structure of Einstein and the car are completely intact.” Marty, exhausted, looked back in the direction where the car should be. “Where the hell are they?” Doc began to explain like a professor giving a lecture to a student. “The appropriate question is, where in the hell are they?” Doc replied. “Einstein has just become the world's first time traveler. I sent him into the future. One minute into the future to be exact. And at exactly 1:21 a.m. we should catch up with him and the time machine.” Again Marty appeared to not be able to process what he was hearing. The look on his face was telling. He started to think how right Principal Strickland might have been in his prediction about Doc Brown being "dangerous." “Wait a minute, wait a minute, Doc, are you telling me that you built a time machine out of a Deloreon?” Marty asks incredulously. Doc nodded his head. “The way I see it, he explained, “if you're gonna build a time machine into a car why not do it with some style. Besides, the stainless, steel construction made the perfect conductor for the flux dispersal...“ he looks suddenly down at his watch then shouts. “Look out!” The white haired man shoved Marty out of the way just in time as the Delorean reappeared with a flash and with a small explosion. It came in at the exact spot it had
disappeared only a moment earlier. Doc manipulated the remote control and brought the car to a screeching halt, then he approached it cautiously. It appeared to be encrusted with something, like ice. Smoke was pouring off of it. As he came near air and steam released from the exhaust vents to the rear of the vehicle, making Doc jump. He then moved even slower. Timidly he reached out to touch the door handle and recoiled in pain. “What, What, is it hot?” Asked Marty. “No, it's COLD. Damned Cold!” The Delorean was indeed encrusted with ice. The Doc had to use his foot to open the door. There, inside, was Einstein, safe and sound, still strapped in, looking warm and cozy and happy to have taken a ride in the car. “Ha, ha, ha, Einstein,” Doc laughed. “You little devil.” Once more Einstein's watch is lifted and placed next to Doc's control watch, the two watches are now exactly one minute apart. “Einstein's clock is exactly one minute behind mine, it's still ticking.” Doc notes, thrilled. Still more worried about the dog than the experiment Marty asked, “is he alright?” “He's fine,” Doc assured him, “and he's completely unaware that anything has happened. As far as he's concerned the trip was instantaneous. That's why Einstein's watch is exactly one minute behind mine. He skipped over that minute,” (Doc gestures with his hand in an arcing motion) “to instantly arrive at this moment in time.” Marty has still been rolling the camera during this explanation. Doc waves him closer. “Come here, I'll show you how it works.” Doc pullws Marty over to the Delorean/ time machine and he got inside and began to give him a tour. Where a gear shift would normally be, on the center console, Doc reached down and grabbed a lever. “First, you turn the time circuits on.” Doc flips the lever toward him like a circuit breaker switch. An LED display array Doc has mounted to the dash board came to life. Below it a set of meters Doc has installed provide the following readings. “Primary, Percent Power, and Plutonium Charge.” “This read out tells you where you are going” explained Doc while pointing to the top dates on the display that read OCT 26 1985 01:21 in red-letter. He then points to the middle display that is in green-letter and has the date OCT 26 1985 01:22. “This one tells you where you've been.” Doc then quickly points to the bottom read out which is in yellow-letter and has the date OCT 26 1985 01:20. “This one tells you where you've been.” Marty,still rolling the camera, just grunts. “huh.” He glances at Marty like a kid showing someone his favorite video game. “You input your destination on this keypad. Say you want to see the signing of the Declaration of Independence.” There are three lit buttons on the keypad corresponding to the colors of each display. Doc presses red button and types on the keypad and presses enter. A white light glows below the three green buttons on the pad and the date on the display changed to JULY 04 1776. “Or say you want to witness the birth of Christ,” Doc continued his demonstration by pressing the red button again, typing in the date DEC 25 0001. (There is no such thing as a
year 0000). The display changed to read the new date. Doc then begins to type in another date. “Here's a red-letter date in the history of science, November fifth nineteen fifty fi...” Doc stopped short, considering his actions carefully as the date he typed in changes on the display to November 5, 1955. He smiled to himself, as if reaching some epiphany. “Yes, of course, November 5, 1955!” He pauses and stares off into space deep in thought then he smirked at Marty, shifting uncomfortably as if unsure of what to say. Marty put down the camera and stopped filming. Looking totally confused. “What?” He asks eagerly, “I don't get what happened.” Doc threw back his head and slapped his palm to his forehead, in some sort of eureka moment chuckling. “Ha, ha, that was the day I invented time travel.” He explained. Marty hung on his every word in amazement, an expression on his fact that suggested he was wondering why he'd never heard this story before. “ I remember it vividly,” Doc goes on, “I was standing on the edge of my toilet hanging a clock, the porcelain was wet, I slipped, hit my head on the edge of t1he sink. And when I came to I had a revelation, a vision! A picture in my head, a picture of this” He turned and pointed to the back of the cab of the vehicle, at a triangular shaped flashing object held inside a glass casing. “This is what makes time travel possible. The flux capacitor.” Doc says its name with awe in his voice. “The flux capacitor?” Marty echoes incredulously, while still filming. “This is good stuff Doc, keep going!” “It's taken me almost 30 years and my entire family fortune to realize the vision of that day,” Doc continued. He stops, his eyes stare wildly. “My GOD has it been that long?” He exclaims in dismay. Doc stopped talking, as if fighting some inner struggle and he looked at Marty with an odd expression. Then he laughed and and shook his head as if waking from a dream. He turned and tapped another date into the display, speaking as he does so, uttering each word as he taps a key stroke. “Or... it... could... just... be... any... random... date...” He smiles at Marty. “If you just feel like taking a little joy ride through time.” He winked at Marty then swung his legs back out of the vehicle and sat, half in and half out, talking dreamily. “Things have certainly changed around here.” He reflected thoughtfully. He then climbed out of the Delorean and waved his hands in all directions. “I remember when this was all farmland as far as the eye could see. Old man Peabody, owned all of this. He had this crazy idea about breeding pine trees.” Doc looked around, as if still lost in the past, while Marty continued to film the inside of the Delorean, thinking about what Doc just said with a weird look on his face. He's filming the gauges inside the vehicle and the first time he notices the word plutonium on one of them. He drops the camera down to his side in confusion. “With a lone pine?” Marty scoffs. “How does that work?” Doc shakes his head with another strange look. “This is uh, this is heavy duty, Doc, this is great.” Marty is practically speechless as he continues to film the Doc, who is now donning some protective suit. Marty now starts to sound a bit nervous. He doesn't like the thought that just popped into his head. “Uh, does it run like on uh regular unleaded gasoline?”
“Unfortunately no,” Doc informs him nonchalantly. “It requires something with a little more kick.” There's a pause, then, as if he's talking about ice cream, or bubble gum, or some other harmless substance he states flatly.... “plutonium.” Marty's voice went up a few notches and he dropped the camera back down at his side. “Uh, wait a minute, wait a minute,” he says, looking back at the vehicle, then back at the Doc with a deep look of concern. “Doc are you telling me that this sucker's nuclear?” Doc, who has been kneeling down at his tool box, looks back and saw Marty is no longer filming. He jumped up, waving his arm in a circle motion and moved back toward Marty. “Hey, hey,” he ordered, “keep rolling there!” Marty is struggling with the camera now and with what he's just been told. His face contorted and his eyes were squinting. “Doc!” He exclaims in outrage! But he raises the camera up again and films as Doc continues. “No, this sucker's electrical, but I need a nuclear reaction to generate the one point twentyone gigawatts of electricity that I need.” “Doc, you don't just walk into a store and ask for plutonium!” Marty protests. He can hardly believe what he's hearing. Suddenly he stops and asks Doc the question that he already knows the answer to. "Did you rip that off?" He almost whispered, in accusing tones, looking from side to side, as if the mall had eyes and ears. Doc turns and walks swiftly back to Marty, moving his hands back and forth as if to say “cut, cut,” and shakin his head as if to say no. But when he got right up to the camera lens he said, “Of course, I stole it from a group of Libyan Nationalists. They wanted me to build them a bomb, so I took their plutonium and in turn gave them a shiny bomb case full of used pinball machine parts.” Doc grins at his clever ruse. Marty's eyes bugged out and he dropped the camera back to his side. “Jeez....” was all he could muster to say to this. “Let's get you into a radiation suit, we need to reload.”” Doc suggested, as if it's all of no consequence now, while he pulled out the yellow box with the nuclear logo on it, opened it, reached in, and wearing special gloves slowly, delicately pulled out a round vial of a reddish brown liquid suspended in some kind of clear liquid. Doc has already donned a special radiation hood and mask, and his breathing sounds like Darth Vader. He stood there, holding the vial of plutonium up to his face, examining it. Marty has already moved over to Doc's position, and realized there is a suit just like the one Doc is wearing, only yellow, ready and waiting for him. Hue put it on and, reluctantly, unable to believe what he has now got himself into, and nder Doc's guidance and direction, they he learns how to reload a makeshift nuclear reactor with one of the most volatile compounds on the face of the earth. The whole time Mr. Strickland's words were echoing in his brain, “This so called Doctor Brown is dangerous. He's a real nut case. You hang around with him you're going to get in BIG trouble!” Marty just stood there in his yellow radiation suit, shaking and trying hard to steady the camera while he filmed Doc showing how to insert the vial and turn it so that the plutonium dropped safely into the reactor chamber he has built on the back of the Delorean. Doc removed the empty vial, twisted the cap back onto the reactor's round radiator chamber, and then pulled his head covering down. “Safe now, Doc said, “everything's lead lined.” Doc gestured at the camera as Marty also
lowered his head covering, still looking like he's about to shit gold (or plutonium) bricks Tearing off his helmet, Doc hurried to the plutonium case, and kicked it back open with his foot. “Don't you lose those tapes now,” he said as he haphazardly placed the empty vial back in its place, “we'll need a record,” he said as he closed the plutonium case and threw down his head covering and tore off his gloves. He then carried the case and his luggage to the front of the car and began placing them in the trunk. While he did it he mumbled. “I can't forget my luggage. I mean who knows if they've got cotton underwear in the future. I'm allergic to all synthetics.” He paused as he was placing them in. As if contemplating whether he's doing the right thing. Finally, he shook his head and put the case in there first. Quietly he muttered to himself. "I'm taking way too many risks!" “That's an understatement!” Marty said, thinking Doc was referring to the stealing of plutonium from dangerous terrorists and promising to build them a nuclear bomb, but then double crossing them. “So, the future, that's where you're going?” Asked Marty. The Doctor nodded. “That's right, twenty five years into the future. He gazes off, as if seeing something afar. “I've always dreamed on seeing the future, looking beyond my years, seeing the progress of mankind. I'll also be able to see who wins the next twenty-five world series. “Uh, Doc,” Marty says. “Huh?” “Uh, look me up when you get there?” “Sure thing” Doc replied warmly. Then, as if remembering something dangerous, a very serious look clouds over on his face. “Marty, there's something I need to tell you and it's important you listen carefully.” Marty stops recording. “Actually roll the camera, record it.” Doc instructed. Marty complied. “Listen Marty,” he begins, “on the off chance, however unlikely, that something were to ever happen to me and it is within your power to destroy this time machine I don't want you to hesitate.” Stunned, Marty stopped filming. “Doc, what's going to happen?” “Keep filming” says Doc urgently. Marty points the camera again. “I don't know, I'm just speaking hypothetically here,” explained Doc. “If some day you were to say, find yourself in the future or the past with this machine you have to PROMISE me you will not interact with ANYONE, not even me, ESPECIALLY not me.” Marty is totally confused. He keeps rolling but he has a lot of questions. “Doc, how the heck am I ever going to use the time machine?” Doc looked nervous. “There's no time to explain, just promise me if it ever does happen you'll follow this one rule, don't interact with anyone in the past OR the future, just do what you can to get this time machine home and if I'm dead or missing, destroy it! In fact, if you
can't get the time machine home, destroy it. You'll just have to accept your fate and remain wherever or whenever you are. Can you promise me?” Now Marty is nervous. He reluctantly agrees. “Sure Doc, I promise!” Marty is used to this sort of melodrama from the Doc, but something in his voice tells Marty that the Doc is hiding more than a few things. Looking satisfied, Doc Brown leaned onto the doorway. He motioned for Marty to film. Marty obliges. Leaning on the car, Doc began a farewell address. "I'm about to embark on an historic journey.” Doc started, “This will be the day long remembered. Every great adventure begins with a single step. If Neil Armstrong took a giant leap forward for mankind this will be considered a pole vault." He stopped, mid sentence as Einstein, who is back in the mobile command post, began to bark crazily in warning of something or someone approaching. Doc looked in the direction the dog is barking. He saw headlights come on in the distance across the parking lot near the entrance. Doc cries out in dismay, "it's too late, they found me, I don't know how, I took every precaution this time but somehow they STILL found me.. again!” Marty asks, "who found you?" Doc replied, "who do you think? " He pointed in the direction of the entrance to the parking lot and screamed, "the LIBYANS!" Marty looked in the direction he was pointing. A VW microbus raced toward them across the parking lot. A man popped out of the top hatch, or sun roof (Marty didn't know which it was) with an M-16 automatic rifle. “Holy SHIT!” Screamed Marty. The man began shooting . “Run Marty,” Doc yelled as he waved him away, “get the hell out of here, I'll hold them off.” Doc ran for an open tool box near the command post and produced a pistol, but it was too late, the VW bus was on him. Instead of running, Marty just stood there, frozen in fear, like a deer trapped in the headlights. Doc tried to shoot but the pistol just clicked. Evidently it was not loaded. In surrender, Doc tossed the pistol away. It clattered limply to the pavement as he put his hands up. There is a brief pause. Marty watched from near the Delorean, a look of hope on his face. Maybe they just want their plutonium back. Then, the man opened fire on Doc, riddling his body with bullet holes. Doc brown's entire body is nearly picked up off the ground by the impacts. Marty screamed, "NO! You bastards!" Hearing Marty's screams, the terrorist turned his gun on the teenager, but he dodged and hid on the other side of the work truck. The van tried to go around Doc's large moving van to get at him from the other side, and when Marty sees this he jumped into the Delorean, slamming the door behind him and took off in it. They chased him relentlessly through the parking lot. Bullets were just bouncing off the stainless steel frame and body of the Delorean. The rifle jams.
It looks like Marty might be in the clear, but the man goes back into the VW bus, then reemerges with a shoulder mounted grenade launcher, aiming it at the Delorean. Marty looked in the mirror at this sight and his eyes went wide. He dropped the shifter into low gear and muttered, "let's see if that thing can do 90." He sped away. When the speedometer almost reaches 88 mph, he had to swerve and it dropped back down again. Still running from the terrorists who are still attempting to get a bead on him with their grenade launcher, Marty put the pedal to the medal again and he picked up speed. He was so intent on watching that maniac in his rear view mirror with the grenade launcerh, he didn't realize that he was headed straight toward the one hour photo processing booth near the exit. Suddenly, the Delorean lights up in that same ethereal energy he had witnessed during the Einstein time travel experiment. The air tingled and crackled around him, making his hair feel like it was standing on end. Marty looked out at the looming photo booth just ahead. He veered away from it but the car started to slow so he locked his arms straight and leaned back into the seat. It had finally dawned on him that the only escape from these Libyans was a time jump. If he tried to avoid the photo booth he might slow down and he wanted that 88 mph. He NEEDED that 88 mph! He braced for impact with the photo booth, making his plans to steer to the left or the right the minute he sensed that he had jumped. The light surrounded him. There was this terrible jolt of electricity all through his body, then he felt nothing and it seemed like he actually blacked out. Suddenly, the photo booth and the mall parking lot are replaced by a corn field. The car struck a scare crow and it was propelled toward him. He screamed. The scarecrow bounced off the windshield and he pulled the car's steering wheel hard to the right, as if he were still trying to avoid the photo booth. He just barely missed a barn that loomed up out of the middle of nowhere. He plowed out into a nearby corn field and did not slow down for quite a few moments, cutting a Delorean sized swath through the crops. When he finally stopped and pulled the helmet off his head (it has fallen over his face in the landing). He looked down the swath he cut in the crops, behind him and breaths a sigh of relief. “Thank the science gods that those Libyans couldn't follow me here,” he muttered to himself. Then he stopped and looked to the dash with a stunned look on his face. “Wherever... or whenever 'here' is!” He said sardonically. The time circuit read, “November 14, 1955?” Marty just mumbled... “Heavy.”
* * * * * * * * * *
4. OLD MAN PEABODY HAD A FARM EYI EYI OH! Once Marty came to a stop in a 1955 corn field he was at a loss for quite a few moments. There was silence again, an eerie silence accentuated by Marty's heavy breathing. He thought about being back in time and it occurred to him, “how cool is that?” He could see how things were done, he could observe great historical moments! His history teacher would LOVE him. Yet, what historical event happened in 1955 besides the invention of the flux
capacitor, and he couldn't very well write a history paper about that, besides he'd missed that date. What kind luck does he have? He is the first human time traveler and he is stuck in a crappy, unimportant time in history. I mean, what, 1955, what's so special about it? It was the year his parents met and fell in love... That gave him pause. Maybe there WAS something interesting to “observe” in 1955. His parents, in High School! Then, he stopped thinking about that stuff when he thought of poof Doc Brown, lying dead on the concrete. A tear rolled down his face. Back at the Peabody barn, the door had been boarded up. Having been damaged a week earlier by another Delorean from 1985. Lights came up in the nearby farmhouse. A spindly man emerged with his mousy wife, a daughter and a son around 9 or 10 years old. They cautiously crept toward the barn, for the second time in a week. “Gotdammit, not again!” Peabody grumbled. He noticds the path in the dirt the Delorean made going past the barn and his gaze with the flashlight followed the path out into the corn field. The smell of crushed corn and soil and dust filled the air. His face went red with age! “Those Bastards,” he exclaimed, “my corn!” The entire family went to the edge of the barn and stared in shock down this path and the swath cut into the corn field. Meanwhile, at the end of that path, Marty had opened his wing door, removed his gloves and had opened the trunk. He had the case to the spare plutonium open and as fast as he could he was putting his helmet back on the radiation suit, in preparation to refuel the flux capacitor and go back to the future. Old man Peabody and his family still stood near the corner of the barn. “SONOFABITCH!” Old man Peabody exclaimed again. “What the HELL happened here?” “Crazy drunk space aliens?” His son Sherman asked. Peabody looked down at his son like he was stupid. The son only lifted up a comic book he'd been reading. Peabody shined his flashlight on the cover, to see a drawing of a UFO crash landing in a corn field, cutting a path of destruction in the crops and earth as it falls. The title said “Crazy Drunk Space Aliens.” Sherman looked at his father, who was staring at the comic in disbelief. “They're back!” “MUTATE BASTARD FIRST MY BARN, THEN MY PINE, NOW... KILLED MY CORN TOO! Everyone back in the house!” He ordered. As they obeyed he shouted after them to his wife. “...And call the damned sheriff this time!” Peabody began to stomp his way toward the path cut in his crops, his gun at the ready. His wife shouted after him, “you be careful!” He waved her off, facing the newly cut path in his field, determined to get to the bottom of these shenanigans. As he cautiously approached the path a truck come pulling up fast. It was another farmer, Bo Wilkins from down the road, his son, Kenny, riding shotgun, literally with a shotgun. In the bed of the truck were two other men with rifles, Billy and Ted, other neighbor farmers. Bo rolled down his window and he half grins at Peabody. “What's all the ruckus?”
Peabody seemed hesitant to answer. When he does he spoke almost under his breath. “I got me another one!” He gestured at the steaming path. “That a way. Just like before!” Bo backs up his truck, turning it at the same time to point its headlines at where Peabody had gestured. He looks down the dark path in the corn field then, seeming to attempt and failing to contain his utter amusement he asked Peabody. “You mean another one of them little green men?” He asked, chiding the man. Bill and Ted in the bed of the truck are snickering. Kenny, in the passenger seat stares in the direction of the path in the corn field wide eyed and nervous. Peabody tried to ignore the chuckling fools in the back. “Not green,” he correctsed “some kinda yellow critter.” The men in the back can't contain themselves and they start laughing out loud. Kenny grimaced and looked even more uncomfortable, gripping his shotgun tighter. Bo looks back at his friends Bill and Ted, and shouted. “Pipe down will ya?” This wipes the shit eating grins off their faces but they still snicker back there. Bo surveyed the path again, mulling things over. “Hop in,” he said to Peabody, gesturing at the back of the truck. “Let's check it out!” Peabody looked at the bed of the truck with the two snickering idiots in it and rolled his eyes. Then grabbed the sides and leaped into the truck bed with them, giving them a respectful nod, even though they are huddling, almost like school girls, giggling at him. Bo waited until Peabody settled in back there. He then took a huge breath and threw the truck in gear. It lurched forward, spinning its tires and headed for the corn field and the waiting mysterious dark path. Bill and Ted stood up and started hooting and hollering. Peabody glared at them with utter contempt. “Idiots!” He growled low between clenched teeth. Meanwhile, Marty had just finished refueling the fusion reactor in the back of the time machine. He stood there now as if contemplating something. He pulls back his hood and stared at the Delorean. He picked up the empty plutonium vial and headed toward the trunk, at the front of the car. He placed it into the case gingerly. “I gotta warn him!” He mumbled. He snapped the case slowly and took off the gloves. He stopped, staring down into the trunk, thinking hard. He left the trunk open and went to the driver's seat and sat down. Weighing his options. He could hear Doc's voice echoing in his head. “...If some day you were to say, find yourself in the future or the past with this machine you have to PROMISE me you will not interact with ANYONE, not even me, especially not me.” “I can't leave it like this. I have to go back early and warn him!” He said to the time circuit, as if he were arguing with it. He started to input the date and time into the destination display using the keypad. “Ten minutes ought to do it!” When he finished he stared at the new destination date and time. “Sorry Doc,” he said, “I can't keep that promise, guess you'll just have to sue me.” He got out and tore off his gloves. He headed to the trunk to take the radiation suit off.
“... But at least you'll be alive!” He muttered as he went. As he neared the trunk, he heard the not too distant roar of a truck engine and some hooting and hollering wafting down the pathway he'd just cut in the corn field. The engine sound approached rapidly and he could see lights down the path. Headlights. “Shit!” He finished tearing off his gloves threw the in the trunk and began fumbling with the helmet. The light grew brighter down the path. “SHIT!” He exclaimed again. “The Libyans?!” His face wrinkled. “That's impossible.” He started to fumble with the helmet to take it off but he looked up and realized he did not have time, whoever was coming down that path was almost on him. He let go of the hood and it fell back down over his head. He slammed the trunk and rushed for the driver's seat. Before he could reach it, however the pickup truck roared up behind the delorean and slammed on its breaks just 5 feet down the path. The truck's bright lights blinded him. His yellow radiation suit glowed like neon in the light. In the cab of the truck, Kenny gasped in sheer terror and Bo slammed on his breaks fast as the Delorean and Marty come into view. Their eyes were eight giant saucers of amazement. “Holy sheep shit!” Bo shouted. Kenny started screaming like a girl. Bill and Ted glared at the sight of this yellow space alien and his flying saucer, their mouths were finally shut. The only one not surprised was Peabody. He'd been to this rodeo before. About a week earlier at his barn. He pulled up his shotgun and aimed. “CUT HIM DOWN BOYS BEFORE HE MUTATES!” Shouted Peabody, almost proudly now that the sight of Marty has vindicated him. He took a shot and it's almost like that shot woke the others from some dream. They also pulled up and Kenny hung out his passenger side window, still screaming like a little girl, but he also took aim. The first shot from Peabody truly took Marty off guard. It whizzed past his head, dangerously close. A muffled scream emitted from inside the radiation hood. He dove into the Delorean, slamming the wing door shut behind him. The bullets really started to fly then, some of them ricocheting off of the Delorean as Marty fired it up and sped forward, cutting more path in the corn ahead of him. “Somebitch MY CORN!” Shouts Peabody in outrage. “Don't let him get away!” He continued to shoot feverishly. The others all shot wildly at the quickly departing time machine. Bo threw his truck back into gear and gave chase. Even with the advantage of the path the Delorean is cutting for them, they still are no match for a 1985 Delorean. Marty begins to put distance between him and them. Marty was bouncing up and down as the car went over the corn rows. Bill, Ted, and Peabody were having a hard time staying afoot in the bed of the truck as it bounced after Marty. The chase went on. Marty kept plowing through the field until he hit a hard dirt road, then he turned quickly and frantically to the right. He looked behind him and saw the men shooting at him through the glint of the pickup truck headlights.
“Those are no Libyans” he said, still in shock at being shot at yet again. Twice in the space of an hour or two. (Or in the space of 3 decades, depending on how you looked at things). A bullet entered the cab of the car and nearly exploded the flux capacitor. Now he realized the danger he was in. He looked forward, down the dirt road, his eyes determined. “Let's see if that bucket of bolts can do 88!” He stomped on the gas pedal and, fish tailing, sped off with the pickup truck in hot pursuit. Bullets still cut holes into the back of the car. Yet, he began to pull away from them more and more. Kenny stopped screaming like a little girl and was still hanging out the window shooting. “He's getting away daddy, he's getting away,” he squealed in through the window. Peabody beat on the top of the pickup, shouting. “Step on in Bo, DAMMIT, don't let the mutate bastard get away again! “ Bo opened the sliding window in the back and shouted through it, “I've got the pedal to the metal boys, that's all ole Betsy's got!” They all looked forward as the Delorean began to move away. Bo swore under his breath while the men in the bed of the truck kept frantically shooting as fast as they could. Marty came to a paved crossroad, slammed on the breaks, turned to the right, slammed on the gas and peeled off again, really moving away on solid pavement. Behind him, the pickup slammed to a halt and all the men in the back went flying toward the cab, shouting angrily. There was no time to slow down gradually. The pickup spun to the right trying to continue the chase but was no good, the Delorean's tail lights were becoming tiny dots moving off in the distance. Marty threw back his helmet. He was still visibly shaken but he looked back and grinned, seeing the pickup's headlights fading away behind him. “I blew their doors off,” he chuckled. The speed of the Delorean was now approaching 85. Marty braced himself and made sure the time circuits were switched on. Out of nowhere, in front of him, blocking his getaway was a black and white sheriff's car, its lights came on and the siren began to wail. This sheriff was trying to cut him off, but he did not know what he's dealing with. Marty somehow took a calculated risk in his head that he was betting he would hit 88 mph just before he hit that sheriff's car. The sheriff, who looked exactly like the strange plaid suited judge at the dance audition, right down to the same glasses, jumped out of his car and stood, gun raised, shouting into his megaphone mic “pull it over!” The megaphone in the front of his car caused his words to echo in the night. Then, the poor sheriff realized that this vehicle, whatever it was, was not even slowing down. He faltered in uncertainty, looking at the oncoming thing, then the side of the road, then the thing. Marty put his arms outstretched and held his head back, praying he hasn't made a huge mistake as he hurtled toward the police car. 86 mph. 87 mph. He was almost on the sheriff. Just as Marty hit 88 mph the sheriff thought better of his whole strategy and literally jumped for the side of the road .
The Delorean lit up in its spectacular colors and then was gone, just where it would have made impact with the police car. The sheriff, his mind blown, got up from the side of the road and surveyed the fiery trail left behind in Marty's wake. He whistled. Then the pickup truck raced up. It slowed. He held up his gun. “That's far enough,” he shouted to the driver of the unknown vehicle. “I don't know what the hell is going on but dammit that's far enough!” The pickup came to a stop right in front of the sheriff. All the men in the truck stared, wide eyed at the Sheriff and at the fiery trail made by the Delorean. When the deputy sheriff recognized them he looked down and shook his head.
5. ANOTHER MARTY Just a little under a mile from the Lone Pine Mall, on a deserted road, the silence of the night was suddenly broken by a few flashes of light then the sound of small explosions. The Delorean appeared from nowhere and came to a quick stop in the road. It was covered in ice. The wing door opened and Marty stepped out, looking around in amazement. He was still dressed in the yellow suit. He looked at the time circuit and it read October 12, 1985 1: 23 AM. Marty grins. “Great! I still have time,” he said to himself as he started quickly ripping off his radiation suit. He threw the suit in the passenger seat and jumped back in the Delorean. Slamming the door shut behind him he turned the key and... click. NOTHING! Flustered and frantic, he turned the key over and over. Still Nothing. “Dammit,” he spewed, “Not now, any time but now.” He kept frantically turning the key and simultaneously pumping the gas pedal (as if that will help). He threw his forehead on the steering wheel in total frustration. Looking at the time he'd lost 2 minutes. He threw open the wing door again, jumped out and pushed the car to the side of the road, setting the emergency brake. Looking once again at the timer he muttered, “It's about ¾ of a mile in 7 minutes... I can make it,” he encouraged himself, “I still got time!” He started running. The thought never occurred to him until he got ½ mile away from the Delorean he stopped, realizing his mistake. “What am I doing? I'm an idiot?” He scolded himself. He looked back down the ½ mile he'd just run. I've got a time machine, I've got all the time in the world! I can just fix that piece of crap and go back in time even earlier. Then something dawned on him. “...but what if there's no fixing it, what if it's broken for good? What if all those bullets damaged the time machine? “ He shook his head then took off again, running even harder now. Huffing and puffing. “I... hate... running,” he complained, wishing he had his skateboard. He ran hard until the Lone Pine Mall loomed into view a ways ahead of Marty as he ran. Suddenly he heard distant gunshots and screaming! “OH NO!” He exclaimed and started sprinting. “Why don't I ever go to the gym?” He bemoaned, out of breath. He ran up to the sign and looked down in total dismay. He could now see the limp figure of Doc Brown lying on the pavement. He looked toward the photo
booth and saw the blue VW microbus lying on its side in the wreckage, burning. He saw the now familiar fire trail of the Delorean after it time jumped. When he looked back at Doc he can't believe his eyes. A lone figure runs toward Doc. It looked like... him. It looked like Marty. Another Marty Mcfly? “It's... me,” he muttered in disbelief, “but look at me, I'm dressed like a dork.” The Marty he sees is dressed in a reddish quilted vest and cheap jeans. “What's with that vest?” He asked himself. “It looks like a life jacket.” The other Marty now sat down next to Doc and turned away, obviously mourning the loss of his friend. He stared down at the scene in total shock and fascination tearing up all over again. The other Marty turned away from the sight of Doc and he also turned away. “Dammit Doc! What the hell is going on?” He sat down and watched the other Marty below as he paced for a while. He heard the sirens approaching at the same time as the other Marty did. The other Marty then retrieved Einstein out of the van (who had been barking now for a few minutes). The other Marty then grabbed the yellow case of plutonium, closed it and picked it up. About 5 minutes had gone by now. Our Marty stood up and determined to fix whatever was going on. “I'll just get the time machine fixed,” he decided. “Then I'll go back again, maybe a day or two and make sure this disaster never happens!” He looked once again down the road in the direction of the approaching sirens. Then ducks behind the mall sign as numerous police cars and a fire engine come near. He looked down and the other Marty kneels down one last time and kisses the forehead of Doc Brown still lying still and then he ran off, with Einstein following closely on his heels. Our Marty kept an eye on the new Marty, following him from a safe distance and staying out of sight of the emergency vehicles so as not to be spotted. He looked behind at the carnage in the mall parking lot. The police were arriving and swarming around Doc's moving van and the VW bus. He stopped and watched for a few seconds making sure he did not lose sight of the new Marty and Einstein. He wanted to learn the fate of the Libyans but the other Marty was rapidly disappearing in the direction of town. “Who are you?” He asked the other Marty running off into the night. He ran after him. When they reach town, the other Marty and Einstein appear from around a corner with our Marty not far behind. He is stunned to see another Delorean sitting in the middle of town square. Obviously where the other Marty had left it. Red, the former Mayor turned homeless guy, is standing near it, drinking from a paper bag and muttering to himself about crazy drunk drivers leaving their cars in the middle of streets, commenting how it never used to be this bad when he was Mayor. At this sight our Marty held back, his eyes wide with amazement and perhaps some confusion. The other Marty opened the trunk and was about to put the plutonium case in. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a siren wails and several police cars roll in fast . They hit the other Marty with spotlights and he put his hands up. Einstein too got up on his hind legs and put his paws up. Marty high tailed it out of there before he too ended up in the back of a police car.
He made his way first for town and Doc's workshop. He needed money if he was going to get the Delorean fixed. At Doc's workshop, he went up to the doorway and sighed in relief when he found the key under the mat. “Some things never change” he commented in delight, flipping keys in his hand. He entered and looked around. Marveling, he said, “it's exactly as I remember it!” He saw the dog food and waved his hand in front of his nose. “Exactly!” He went to the phone and grabbed a nearby phone book, thumbing through it. He then dialed. “Frank's towing,” a voice on the receiver said. “Oh good, you're open.” “24 hour towing service,” the voice said, sounding irritated. “What can I do you for?” “I need a tow,” said Marty. “Go figure,” said the voice sarcastically. Marty gave the man on the phone directions to where the Delorean was. He told him he thought there might be something wrong with the starter. There's a pause. “Cash or credit,” the man asked. “Hang on” he said into the phone. He ran back to a desk drawer across the room, rifled through it and produced a credit card. It had Doc's name on it and a yellow sticky that said “For emergencies only.” “I think this qualifies, Doc!” He ran back to the phone and gave them the man the number. Waiting a few moments while he ran it. “Good to go,” said the man, “you're pre approved for our VIP service.” Marty frowned, not knowing if the guy was joking or not. “Oh, can you come pick me up,” asked Marty, before you go out there to get my car?” There was a pause. “Since I'm pre-approved for your VIP service,” Marty added. The man said, “sure thing, kid.” “I'm at 1646 Riverside Drive.” “Old man Brown's place,” said the man on the phone. “I know it.” “Of course you do,” Marty said, exhausted.
* * * * * * * * * *
The old Texaco star is a gas station, convenience store, and above the old garage is a sign that reads, “FRANK'S COMPLETE AUTO CARE AND TOWING.” A tow truck pulled up with the Delorean in tow and Marty, sitting silently in the front passenger seat. The truck stopped and Marty got out. Leaning in he asked the guy, “how long will it take before you know what's wrong with it?”
The guy shrugged. “We'll call ya.” “Okay,” said Marty, disappointed that he didn't get at least a time estimate. “Listen,” said Frank, “Let me drop this heap off and I'll run ya home, kid, the sun's coming up soon.” Marty thought about it then sighed and nodded. “I am pretty tired, it feels like I haven't slept in decades.
6. ANOTHER FAMILY The sun was just beginning to light up the edge of the horizon when the tow truck pulled up at the end of the driveway of the Mcfly residence. Marty opened the door and climbed out saying his thanks and his goodbyes. As he did so, he reached in the cab and yanked out the plutonium case and turned, looking around nervously, he set it on the ground,. He then took his leather coat off and wrapped it around the case. When he finished he tucked it under his arm and ran toward the back of the house, fast as he could, staying in the shadows like a prowler. The truck driver watched him in confusion, shaking his head, until the boy was gone. He then pulled out and away. Marty snuck in through his window the way he always did and in no time he was crashed in his bed. When the sun was fully up, the radio came on playing the song “I Can't Drive 55” by Sammy Hagar. He got up and looked around. His room was a mess. Not a good sign. He frowns at it. He always left his room cluttered, but clean. “What a nightmare,” he said, referring to last night's events. But looking around he notices just how bad his room looked. “It looks like a bomb went off in here,” he mumbled in disapproval. As he got up his foot kicked the case of plutonium. He bent down, and his eyes went wide when he saw it. Then he appeared totally downcast that it was not, after all, a nightmare. He slid the case under the bed, and made his bed quickly, using the bedspread to hide the case. He walked out toward the kitchen yawning. He heard the voice of his mother and his sister Linda. They were discussing something. He made out a few words about a lawyer, and jail and as he moved closer he heard Lorraine talking about Doc Brown. “I never liked him hanging around with that crazy wild eyed old man to begin with. Now I hear he might have been some sort of terrorist!” Marty stepped out into view, angry. “Doc's no terrorist, mom, don't believe everything you heee....” His jaw dropped. What he saw he cannot believe. His mother was a mess. Her hair was crazy, she looked like she slept in her clothes, her mascara was old and running from crying. Linda looked frumpy, not dressed in her usual 80's businesswoman look and she was wearing glasses. Linda HATED glasses. Dave and his father aren't there. The two women look at him in total surprise. “Marty!” They both exclaimed together. Lorraine squealed with joy and ran to him with her arms out. “Oh my GAWD! You're here, you're okay!” Linda got up and, placing her hands on her hips disapprovingly, glared at him.
He was confused for a second. “Well, ya, why wouldn't I?” Lorraine stopped and stared at him angrily. “When we got the call at 2:30 in the morning that you've been arrested we thought the worst young man! Linda sat down and just went back to her breakfast as Lorraine continued to fawn over him. “We thought we were going to have to bail you out again. “ Said Lorraine, running her hand through Marty's hair. Marty couldn't help but notice that his mother had alcohol breath. She'd either been drinking already this morning, or had been drinking heavily the evening before. Or both. “Arrested.. again,” added Linda dryly, “you're a total embarrassment.” Lorraine continued her fawning over Marty, ushering him to the breakfast table. “You're father and Dave are out there right now trying to get you out of JAIL! I was just about to call the lawyer to find out what the hold up is.” The light bulb went on in his head. The other Marty was arrested. They think HE was arrested. Linda, who had been seething during this entire display of her mother's affection for Marty, staring into her breakfast, Linda piped up. “I knew you would find a way to worm out of whatever trouble you got into... you always do!” Marty now looked around the house. It was dingy, not well lit, and the furniture was all old and cheap looking. The grand piano was missing. The living room looked like someone from hee haw decorated it. He started to panic a little. “What's going on?” Is all he could say. Lorraine stared at her daughter with a frown. They both ignored Marty's heartfelt dismay. “Of course he's not in trouble,” Lorraine responded, “I'm sure it was all that crazy old man.” She then look at Marty who was still looking around the house, disorented and mistook his disorientation for grief. “Oh, I'm sorry Marty,” she apologized, “I know how much you cared about him.” He just stared at the two of them blankly, his mouth almost hanging open. Lorraine put her hand on his head, “oh, you poor dear, were you hurt during the incident?” Marty put his head down actually feeling the grief of losing Doc again. How could he have almost forgotten about the image of poor old Doc lying there on the cold hard pavement staring blankly into the sky? “I am gonna miss him,” he said with meaning. “I know, son, I know” she pat him on the hand. But also, Marty was even more so upset about somehow losing his family. He didn't know this family. He wanted his OTHER family back. He couldn't for the life of him make sense of any of this. Just then Dave came in through the front door. He was pushing George Mcfly... in a wheel chair! Marty, when he saw this, stood up, and shouted “Dad, what happened?” Then he fell over on the floor.
His mother rushed to his side and helped him get back up. George wheeled himself over to Marty, very concerned. Dave and Linda both held back, indifferent, glaring down at Marty coldly. Lorraine helped Marty back to his feet. “Son,” George said in a soft, whiney voice, looking at him worriedly. “Are you alright?” Marty, brushing himself off nods. “I'm okay Dad.... what happened to you? George gives him a confused look. “I see they didn't hold you very long.” He turned to Dave, “I told you he wasn't involved!” Dave just made a face and headed to the breakfast table. He and Linda shared a disapproving look at each other and never even spoke. “Oh, Marty, you must have hit your head or something, last night,” Lorraine bewailed as she helped her younger son sit back down in his chair. She felt his head again. George said to Lorraine, “when we got to the police station, no one would tell us anything. There were FBI crawling all over the place and they refused to even acknowledge that Marty was in custody! Something about National Security! Lorraine looked horrified. Dave and Linda shared a “uh, huh, thought so,” look. “National Security?” Lorraine echoed incredulously. “OUR MARTY?” Marty was just staring in shock at the sight of his father in a wheel chair. George's legs looked, odd, sort of twisted, like he didn't even have use of them. “Hey Marty,” Dave demanded, “what the hell went on last night? We heard the mall was attacked by terrorists and you were one of them!” “Don't be ridiculous David,” Lorraine chimed. Linda was nodding in the background, sipping her coffee. Marty ignored Dave. His attention still on his father. “Dad, what happened to you?” Everyone looked at Marty oddly now. The room went quiet. George seemed confused by the question more than anyone else. “What happened to me? “ He echoed. “Nothing son, what happened to you? What happened to Doc Brown?” Marty realized that whatever this condition is that put George in the wheel chair, it's nothing new to any of them except him! He must sound like a lunatic asking him that question. He covers for himself well. “... I just meant you look really.. GREAT this morning.” He lies, balling up his fist and chucks his father lightly. George gave him a halfhearted smile then wheeled himself into the kitchen. “Well, thanks son,” he says as he goes. “I've been working out.” Dave is leering at Marty. Marty's countenance falls. This whole thing was breaking his heart. What happened to his family? For breakfast, everyone ate in relative silence. Marty looked around the table periodically. Eyeing each person with growing alarm. They are literally strangers to him. Dave and Linda kept just glaring at Marty while he tried to eat.
Dave finally placed his fork down abruptly. “Alright,” he said, abruptly, “no one else is talking about this so I will,” he grumbled. “Marty, you gave us one helluva scare last night and now someone is dead and you seem to be involved in some way. I...” he stops, then rewords it, “We demand an explanation!” Marty shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I really don't want to talk about it right now, Dave.” “That's not good enough Marty,” Dave insists, “You're always getting into some sort of trouble. Where did you get those clothes? They look like they cost a fortune. What do you do late at night when you sneak out that window?” George just sat there, eating, saying nothing. Lorraine stared sadly and silently down into her plate. Linda joined Dave in glaring at Marty. Marty looked around for an ally but found none. Finally Lorraine sheepishly said, “Dave, that's enough.” Dave frowned deeply at his mother. “He's obviously been through some sort of ordeal,” she defended, “and we need to give him some space and support.” Dave snorts and shot up from his chair. “That's total bullshit mom! He gets away with murder around here!” George's eyes spark and flash. “Hey, hey, watch your language in my house.” Dave stormed off. For the first time Marty realized how different this family really was. It actually wasn't even until then that he notices Dave's UPS uniform. Without thinking he blurted out, “Dave, when did you start working for UPS?' Dave spins around angrily. “See? Mom? Dad? He's on drugs or something.” Then to Marty. “Working for the UPS is a perfectly respectable job. At least I contribute around here! Unlike SOME PEOPLE!” George scoffs. “Drugs? C'mon Dave, now you're getting carried away.” Dave's face went red. Linda gaped in amazement at Marty, her fork held in front of her mouth as if he were some sort of alien creature. Dave stormed away, blustering now. “He's following in uncle Joey's footsteps!” He stomped out the front door. Lorraine reached over and rubs Marty's head again. “Oh dear, did someone do something... bad.. to you in jail?” “No, mom,” Marty said, gently pushing her hand away, sounding irritated. “I, I, just don't feel good, I've had a rough day.” Linda put her plate in the sink and quietly left, giving Marty backwards glances. “Mom, Dad,” Marty finally said, “I think I need to talk to Dad alone.”
* * * * * * * * * *
Lorraine pushed George into Marty's room behind Marty. She kissed his father on the forehead. Marty was glad to see that one thing hadn't changed, they were obviously still very much in love. He was truly relieved. She lingered in the doorway for a second or two, as if wondering what they might have to talk about. George and Marty both stared at her. Respecting their privacy she left, closing the door softly behind her, but she stayed, leaning up against the door, placing her ear against it to listen in. Marty sat down on his bed. George looked at him, puzzled. “Well son,” he asked, breaking the awkward silence, “what can I do for you?” Marty searched for words and didn't seem to find them. Finally, after another awkward silence he attempted it. “Dad, I need to ask you some questions that might seem really really strange to you, please don't think I'm crazy.” “No Marty,” George assured him, “I don't think you're crazy.” “Wait,” said Marty, “You haven't heard the questions yet.” He chuckled nervously. George waited patiently. “Okay, here it goes...” He takes a deep breath. “Dad, how did you end up in a wheel chair?” George's face goes white and he looks mortified.
“Son, you know...”
Marty interrupts him, apologetically, “I've been having some memory issues lately so please forgive me, I'm confused.” “...You know I don't like to talk about that,” George continues, ignoring Marty, “but since you've never asked me like this before, I have to assume it's important...” said George. Marty nodded. George eyed his son strangely. “Okay, well then,” here goes.” Marty's father shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Son, this is not a pretty story and it's embarrassing. I've never told anyone the truth about what happened, not even your mother, but I think she's suspected.” George paused for a second, took a deep breath of his own, then came out with it. “Biff and his friends did this to me.” “Biff?” Marty can't believe his ears. “Biff TANNEN?” George nods. Marty shakes his head. The Biff Tannen he knows was a marshmallow. “How is that possible Dad?” “I know, I know,” George cut in, mistaking Marty's tone for disapproval. “I should have reported it, I should have had him put in prison, but I was afraid of the repercussions if he managed to beat the charges, which he always seemed to to do!” “But, wait, hold on, Dad, Biff? Biff Tannen put you in a wheel chair? How? Was it some sort of accident?” “No,” said George, “it was no accident! He hit me with his car and then he and his friends kicked me and beat the crap out of me until I was unconscious, I think they left me for dead.” Marty sat back on his bed, devastated by this bit of news. What kind of topsy-turvy world
had he found himself in? Where Biff and his stupid friends could get the jump on George Mcfly this way? “It was a few days after the big dance,” George continued. “That night there was a conflict in the parking lot and Biff was being rough with your mother. I couldn't stand for that so I decked him.” “Ya, I remember that part,” Marty blurted out. George stopped and stared at him. “Did your mother tell you about that?” Marty thinks fast. “Ya, she did, a while back,” he threw in, uncomfortably. It didn't feel right lying to any George Mcfly, even this stranger, one who was obviously and technically not the father Marty remembered. Seeming to accept that answer George went on. “After the dance I heard that Biff and his gang were looking for me, something about a kid named Calvin Klein and something that he took from Biff. It sounded bad, and I couldn't understand what that kid had to do with me, I barely knew him. Anyway, I managed to avoid them for a few days but they finally caught up with me.” He sat back and thought about those long gone days, then began to recount the events. “I was riding my bike to go see Lorraine and they hit me by surprise, from behind, with their car, knocking me off. Then, I was injured and couldn't get up to defend myself and Biff and his gang started kicking me, demanding I tell them where Calvin Klein is. They were crazy. How would I know where he was? I barely knew the kid. Biff kept going on about how this Klein kid stole a book from him.” Marty frowned. “A book?” George confirmed, “A book.” “Dad, what sort of book? I didn't even know Biff read books.” George nodded. “Me either, but I think he said it was some kind of book about sports scores and gambling. “ Marty nodded back, that made more sense. “Anyway, I ended up in the hospital, and in this wheel chair ever since. You're mother has taken care of me all these years.” He stared off into the distance, thinking of Lorraine. “Poor woman, she's had it rough.” “Poor woman,” Marty repeats, “Dad, you're in a wheel chair. Can you use your legs at all?” George is shocked by Marty's candor. “You've asked me that before and we discussed it, son, what's going on with you?” “I don't know!” Marty says in exasperated honesty. “I really don't!” Unexpectedly, Lorraine burst in, her eyes full of fire and tears, like wet hornets. “All these years and you never told me! “ She exclaimed in outrage. “That bastard Tannen did this to you? On purpose???” George dropped his head, ashamed. “I never wanted you to know.” Lorraine is furious. “Why didn't you want me to know, really? Is it because you knew I'd take a gun and put a bullet in that bastard?” “Mom!” Marty exclaimed shocked.
George threw his hands up, “Well ya!:” He sighed. “That's one good reason!” Lorraine's eyes filled with tears. “You told me it was a hit and run driver. You lied to me all these years, George, and meanwhile we've put up with that animal's shit and now I find out, he's responsible for this...” she points at his wheel chair, “and all of.. THIS!” She gestures at the house. She stormed out, crying. “I'm sorry,” Marty apologized. “It's okay, son, the truth had to come out some day, but I don't understand why you are asking me this now.” “I can't say just yet,” said Marty, “but I need to know one more thing, and this is important.” “Okay,” George agreed, looking more uncomfortable, wondering what Marty might ask now. “I need to know the exact location, date and time this happened.”
7. ANOTHER BIFF Inside the Texaco Marty stood at the counter and handed Frank the credit card he borrowed from Doc. Outside the Texaco, a mechanic pulled the Delorean up to the front entrance. “That car has some interesting modifications.” Frank said, almost with suspicion as he rang up the transaction. “Ya,” Marty admitted, elusively, “they're mostly for looks though,” he lied. “Looks?” Frank looked at him sideways. “It's seen some action too, found some bullet holes, some buck shot.” He drops the buck shot on the counter. It clatters and rolls off the counter onto Marty's feet. “And what's that contraption mounted to the back, if I didn't know better I'd think it was a fusion reactor, and those interesting displays with the dates? ” Marty laughed, a forced laugh, a nervous laugh. “Reactor? No..” Suddenly, Marty sees Jennifer walking past the Texaco with a girl friend. “Hey, hold that thought Frank,” he said as he darted for the door. As he swung the door open and ran outside Jennifer glanced at him then went back to her conversation. “Jennifer!” Marty shouted. Both girls stop and spin around. Surprised. Jennifer frowns and tenses up. “Oh, man, Jennifer,” Marty said in relief as he ran up to her and tried to move close. “Are you a sight for sore eyes.” Jennifer stiffened more and backed up as he invades her private space for a hug. He stopped in his tracks, seeing her demeanor. “Wait,” Jennifer said, “I know you!” Her friend looks at Jennifer as if she's crazy. “You're that kid in that band?” Jennifer said. “The one that called themselves- what was it?” There's an awkward pause. “Her eyes light up, and she points, “the Pinheads.” Jennifer's friend is frowning at Marty disapprovingly. “Ya, you know, it's me, Jennifer, it's my your... Marty.”
“My Marty?” Jennifer blushed and tries not to chuckle. “Since when?” The girl with Jennifer has had enough. “Leave us alone you creep!” She snapped at him as she grabbed Jennifer by the arm and dragged her away. Marty stares after them, crestfallen. Jennifer turns around, kind of smiling at him as her friend urged her onward. “.But.. we were supposed to go to the lake...” Marty mumbled sadly. “I can't believe you could just forget me Jennifer.” His heart is broken. Of all the terrible things about this strange new reality he had fallen into, this one was the worst. Jennifer didn't even know him. He turned, and like a whipped puppy shuffled his feet back into the Texaco where Frank was looking sympathetic. “Struck out, huh kid?” Asked Frank as he entered. Marty just nodded. “Sorry, 'bout that, but hey, such is life, right.” The mechanic said, handing him back his credit card and the receipt. “Women, you can't live with 'em, pass the beer nuts.” He said. He pointed to the receipt. “Sign here.” “That car of yours looks like something out of a science fiction movie.” Frank said bluntly. Marty signed then said, “Look, I'm not supposed to say anything but I work for a movie studio part time and that car is a prop for a movie... about time travel.” He chuckled nervously. “I knew it!” Said Frank. “Who's movie? Is it Spielberg?” Marty doesn't answer. “It's gotta be Spielberg!” “Look Frank,” Marty said, “I gotta get this thing back to the lot, I'm kind of in a hurry. Frank smiled. “Ya, I hear ya, there never seems to be enough hours in a day does there?” Marty nodded wholeheartedly. “You have NO idea, “ he said. “Now, I trust this whole thing about a movie and Spielberg is our little secret right? I mean, Frank, I could get fired.” “Absolutely!” Frank agreed shaking his hand. “If you see Spielberg tell him I can do mechanic work for him, if he ever needs it.” “I'll try to remember.” “I also do some acting on the side and I can do stunts and special effects,” the mechanic added. “I had NO idea,” said Marty, feigning to be impressed. “Great to know,” he said, as he took the keys from Frank and hurried for the door. As he went out the front door he heard a familiar voice. “Hey BUTTHEAD!” He stopped in his tracks and sneered. It was Biff's voice... calling him a name? Marty turned toward the sound, a look of indignation on his face. How dare that worm Biff talk to him like that. He must be talking to someone else. “Are you talking to m...” His sentence was cut off by the sight of Biff approaching on the sidewalk but it wasn't the the Biff Marty knew. This Biff looked confident to the point of, well, like he owned everything. He seemed as though he might spend most of his time in the gym too. His huge frame was pumped with rippling muscle. He was dressed in a Magnum P.I./Miami Vice cross look.
Wool sport coat, Levi 501s, and a Hawaiian pattern t-shirt. The giant man stomped up and towered over him. “What's this I hear you and Doc Brown got something going on in my territory?” Marty's eyes shift and narrow. “Your... territory?” Biff grabs his shirt. “That's what I said, dumb ass, MY territory.” Marty squares off. “Woah, what's this?” He looked at Frank who had come out of the shop. Biff grins, “Little upstart going to get physical with me? You want a piece of me little runt?” Marty is too shocked by this new Biff to respond, he just stands there, holding his fist, hesitating. “No I want the whole thing.” Marty said. Biff squeezed the kid's shirt tightly, drew his huge fist up higher. Just then he sees a cop approaching on the sidewalk. He relaxed his grip on Marty and just sort of smooths Marty's shirt out as the cop walks past, looking. Biff smiles at the cop nervously. The cop looks at Marty, who nods. “Hello officer.” “Ya, hello officer,” said Biff as the cop continued to walk down the sidewalk. Biff watched Marty's fist open and relax. “I didn't think so.” He said. “Listen twerp, you know nothing happens in Hill Valley that I don't know about and I know about everything! So, I hear Doc bought it last night. Messed with the wrong people. Well the same thing is going to happen to you if you don't stay off my turf.” Marty is confused. It sounded like Biff thought he was some sort of gangster who owns Hill Valley. Biff looked over at the Delorean and sneered. What's that piece of shit, is that a Delorean?” “No, it's a volkswagon,” Marty replied, kurtly. “Don't get smart with me.” Biff warned. “I don't want no Deloreans in Hill Valley, that butthole Jack Delorean owes me money, freakin' coke head.” A white 1985 Rolls Royce Convertible pulls up. There are three men dressed in 3 piece suits wearing sunglasses. He recongizes them even though they are almost unrecognizable dressed this way. It's Biff's henchment. One of them is on an expensive looking car phone. Suddenly a white 1985 Rolls Royce Convertible pulls up. Marty sees three men dressed in 3 piece suits, wearing sunglasses. He recognizes them even though they are almost unrecognizable. It's Biff's henchmen. One of them is on a car phone. “Hey, Boss, we got a situation down at the warehouse.” “Give me a minute!” Biff snapped. He looked at Marty menacingly. “You're lucky, runt, I have bigger fish to fry and you're just a tadpole.” “Actually, Biff, a tadpole is a frog not a fish.” “I don't need a chemistry lesson from a guppy.” Biff growled, pointing at Marty as he walked away. “I'll break you in half.” Biff stomped over to his car as one of his Henchmen open the back door for him. He stopped before getting in. “Stay out of my territory punk, or else.” He looks at the Delorean again. “...And I don't want to see that piece of crap around here again.” Marty just stares at him, unintimidated.
“Oh,” Biff said as he jumps into the back of the car without opening the door, “and, say hello to your mom for me, give her a big kiss from uncle Biff, will ya?” They all laugh and drive off with Marty staring after them, dazed. Frank came up to Marty and whispered. “That guy is bad news, kid, you need to stay away from him.” Marty scoffed. “Who, him? He's an asshole.” Frank looks at Marty gravely, “That may be so, but that guy is serious trouble. He runs the Hill Valley underworld, some say he's more dangerous than Al Capone!” “Capone?” Marty scoffs again. “Tannen?” Frank shakes his head. “Be careful kid, that guy will bury you in the desert in a heartbeat.” Marty looked down the street as Biff and his henchmen slowed down to hoot and holler at a beautiful woman crossing the street in her aerobics uniform on her way to Lou's Aerobic Studio. He shook his head. “Thanks for the advice,” he said to Frank as he moved to the driver's side of the Delorean, keys in hand. “But if I have my way, in a few hours THAT guy won't be around anymore.” Frank shook his head as Marty pulled away. “Poor kid,” he said to himself, “thinks he's in a movie.”
8. ANOTHER GEORGE MCFLY Marty pulled into the driveway of the Mcfly residence in the Delorean. He stopped, got out, opeeds the garage door, and pulled the Delorean in. He then closed the door behind him, flipping on the light. He stared at the Delorean. “Okay, Doc, I'm coming. It's another promise to you I can't seem to keep.” He reached in the trunk and pulled out the radiation suit and donned it. He went to the back of the garage, reached down and moved some old boxes. Buried there underneath is the plutonium case. He dragged it out gently and opened it. Then he took a plutonium vial from the case and loaded it into the fusion chamber. When he finished he took the suit off and stood there looking at the Delorean. “Something tells me if I do this, I could be destroying the galaxy, or universe, or something like that, but my universe is already destroyed.”
* * * * * * * * * * The front door to the Mcfly residence opened and Marty wheeled George out toward the garage. “I don't know what this is all about, but you're starting to scare me.” Said George as his son pushed him along hurriedly. “I'll explain it all in a minute,” Marty said. When they got to the open garage door, George saw the Delorean and he looked surprised. “A Delorean?”
“Not just any Delorean.” “Is it Doc's?” “Uh huh.” “How does it drive?” Asked George exciteldy. He looked wistfully at the car. “I never got to drive, that's one of my biggest regrets.” Marty pushed George into the garage. “Dad, listen, I don't have much time... well actually I have as much time as I want,” Marty corrected himself, “maybe I have too much time.” George laughed, “you're starting to sound like Doc Brown now.” “Listen, Dad,” Marty got in front of George, knelt down and grabbed his father by both arms, “what I'm about to tell you is going to sound crazy, but I swear it's all true.” George truly looked nervous, but he waited, as Marty braced himself. “I'm a time traveler and that,” he points at the car, “is my time machine.” George stared at his son with growing eyes. He stared at the Delorean, taking it in as if for the first time as well. The light of understanding was clearly dawning. He said not a word. Just stared from Marty, to the car, back and forth. “I don't know what to say about that,” said George “I know,” Marty said, “It sounds ridiculous, but I swear Dad!” .“I don't know what to say about that,” repeated George, but then he added, “except, I know!” Marty was taken aback. He stopped and stared at George the way George had been staring at him a few moments ago. “You know?” Echoed Marty in amazement. “But how?” George shook his head. “It all makes sense now. I never could put my finger on it before. I thought I was losing my mind but as you grew into a teenager you started to look familiar to me and I couldn't quite place it but then, one day I had a crazy thought, you looked just like that kid, that Calvin Klein kid I told you about that Biff was looking for.” Marty stood back, still in shock, not quite understanding everything George was saying. “I know it was you Marty. I guess maybe I've always known, but I didn't know how.” “Who Dad?” Marty asks totally confused. “Who was me?” “You know...” says George slyly, “Calvin Klein.” He laughs. “That kid... “ He pauses, “...YOU... were always a little strange and he, you, seemed to have this obsession about me and your mother. I can't forget his... YOU'RE face! I thought I was losing my mind but you look just like him, and he insisted on being called 'Marty, too!' George looked away, distant. “It explains so much.” He looked back at his son. “Actually, it explains everything.” Marty shook his head. “Dad, that doesn't make any sense, if I'm that guy, that Calvin guy, don't you think I'd remember?” “I don't know how it works, son,” George said, wheeling over to him, “Maybe time travel messes with your head a little, screws up your memory, I have no idea, but I remember you in 1955, you were there!”
Marty looks away in complete helplessness. “If only Doc were here, he might be able to explain all this.” George thought about this more. “I almost accused your mother once of staying in touch with that Calvin kid.” He chuckled nervously. “When you looked so much like him.” “I thought maybe you were his kid.” “Dad!” Marty gasped. “I know, I sure as hell am glad I didn't accuse her of that!” “Dad,” Marty jumped in, “it doesn't matter anyway. I need to tell you the rest. You're not supposed to be like this.” “Like what?” “Like this!” Marty gestured at the wheel chair. “In my reality you play tennis, you are a golfer, hell, you almost went pro!” George looked at him disbelieving. Marty got an idea. He went to the Delorean and pulled out the JVC GR-C1U Movie Recorder he always borrowed from Doc Brown. “I can prove it to you,” he said, as he looked at the pop out electronic viewfinder display. He began rewinding to the dinner the night before. “I have it on film. You... the other you, the you not in a wheel chair.” When he got to the spot on the recording where is the Mcfly family dinner he couldn't believe his eyes. The film was changed. The dinner appeared to have been going on exactly as it did before, except George is in a wheel chair, Lorraine is in a bath robe at the dinner table, looking depressed, Dave is in a UPS uniform, and the house looked the same as it did now. Marty was beside himself. He snapped the viewfinder back, frustrated. “I HAD it on film” he said sadly, putting the camera down in the Delorean. He started to pace. “I was only in 1955 for a few minutes,” he rambled on quickly. You couldn't have met me there. Still, somehow, despite all that, I changed things back there, in 1955. I don't know how it could happen. I went back there, came right straight home, immediately, just like Doc told me to do if I ever got stuck in the time machine somewhere, or some when. After I got back, though, I found you like this. In my world you write short stories, articles, NOVELS!” George seem ed to be having trouble processing this. “Dad, in my world you're a damned hero, everyone in Hill Valley loves you! And Biff, well Biff isn't a thug where I come from, he's a marshmallow!” George shook his head. “That sounds too incredible to believe, son, you're not pulling my leg?” He smiled staring at his legs. “That's not funny, Dad,” Marty said exasperated. “It's a little funny,” argued George. “This is serious,” insisted Marty. “I don't know how the HELL everything got so messed up, but listen, I'm going back there, I swear to you, I'll find out and I'll fix it. I'll fix everything. I don't even know why I'm telling you this since, if I succeed in my plan I doubt you'll even be here, at least not like this.” Marty kept talking a mile a minute. “I guess I just needed someone to talk to, and maybe I'm only telling you all of this in case I don't succeed. In case I fail and I never make it back. There's still TIME Dad, you can still write that first novel, you
can still make something of yourself. I know for a fact you got it in you!” Still reeling from the part about if Marty succeeds George “won't be here,” George didn't look like he approved. “Now wait a minute kid, I'm no expert on time travel but I've read lots of science fiction on the subject. It seems to me you can't just go meddling around in the space time continuum. You can't just go jumping around in the past in a time machine like it's some kind of skateboard park. Changing the past to suit you.” “I realize that Dad,” Marty said. He knelt again, putting his hand on his Dad's shoulder. “Don't you think I know that? Doc warned me about all of this before he died, but I have to fix this, I have to put this right. Somehow this is all my fault! He stopped, looking away distantly. But I have no clue how.” George grabbed his hand. “I am sorry, son, but you don't know that. Not for sure.” “Okay,” Marty agreed, “but I'm pretty sure. It's the only thing that makes sense. Something I did back in 1955 created this crazy upside down reality where Biff is Al Capone, you're in a wheel chair, and Jennifer doesn't even know me!” “Jennifer,” enquired George. “Ya,” said Marty, “Jennifer Parker. In my world she's my girlfriend. “Ah, Jennifer PARKER,” George seems impressed You've always had a secret crush on her but you never had the balls to ask her out before!” “See what I mean, Dad?” Marty is exasperated. “I don't know for sure what I did, but I have to fix this!” George shook his head again, in objection. “So don't you think you should find that out before you go driving back into the past to poking around there blindly?” Marty shook his head. “Yes, I probably should but I have no idea how to figure it out, I need Doc Brown, and I need him ALIVE.” George realized then what Marty was planning and he liked it even less. “Ah, now hold on son, you're planning to go back and change what happened last night aren't you?” “Well, technically it was this morning, but ya, I don't believe that Doc is supposed to be dead!” “Marty!” George said warningly as if he saw Marty about to stick his hand in the cookie jar where it doesn't belong. “Dad, somehow his death is connected to the same events that led to this, nightmare world where you're in a wheel chair and Biff is some sort of Mafioso running Hill Valley.” “I can assure you, son, this is no nightmare world, it could be a lot worse!” George objected again. Marty shook his head. “Anyway, Dad, I'm going to go back to 1955 and find Doc. Together I bet we can figure out what changed everything. While I'm there I'll warn him about the Libyans, I can save him from being shot.” George shook his had again. “I don't like this, Marty, it sounds like you are trying to play God, trying to control the universe with this time machine of yours.” “Not control, Dad, I'm only trying to fix what I broke.” “You say tomato.. it sounds like you could make things even worse.” “It's possible, but I can't just leave you here like this!”
George looked at Marty. “Son, I'm okay, things didn't turn out too bad, I still have your mother and you kids and this wheel chair, it's a minor inconvenience, but the ladies DIG it,” he smiled facetiously, “and I can still kick the crap out of you in a tennis match.” Marty laughs. “Ya, I bet, with that unfair advantage of those wheels.” They laughed together. “There's no way I can talk you out of this?” George asked. Marty shook his head. “It's the only way. I won't let what Biff did to you stand, I'm going to fix it, and I'm going to fix that sonofabitch once and for all if I get a chance.” George looked horrified. “Don't start taking things into your own hands, son, violence never solved anything!” Marty patted him on the hand. “I'm not talking about violence,” he assured his father, “I'm just talking about a good ole fashioned butt whooping.” George frowned. Marty continued, “I'm just going to try and set things back the way they were, as much as I can remember about how you and mom TOLD me the way things were, anyway. If I succeed, you'll be back to normal and this conversation will never have happened. You won't remember it.” George eyed his son. “I can see you're growing up to be your own man. I can't help but be proud of you son! Even though, I'm quite certain that has to be a law against time traveling and changing the past to suit yourself.” “Doubt it dad,” said Marty, since technically time travel was just invented early this morning.” “Well, maybe there should be a law against it,” George said. “But still, I am proud.” “Thanks Dad,” said Marty. He hugged George. “That means a lot, coming from you.” “Well it's true,” says George. “Now push me back in, it's getting hot out here.” George ordered. Marty started pushing George back to the house. “Oh, and Dad,” he said hesitantly, as he did , “I kind of forgot something. There's another me here in 1985.” “Another you?” George echoed. “Ya he's the one that got arrested. He might be the Marty you know, the Marty you raised and I'm sure he's wondering why you guys haven't rescued him from the FBI yet or at least haven't tried to contact him .” George slammed on his brake. “So you're saying that you're not the Marty I raised and my real son is in jail? You tell me this now, after I hugged you and everything?”: Marty looks at him then realizes he's messing with him. George grins slyly. “Dad, it's not that simple but it is simple at the same time. I'm your son but I was raised by the other George Mcfly, the author!” “Oh, ya, simple,” George said sarcastically. Marty looked at him, and realized the man was just messing with him again. “Not funny... George.”
“Oh, so now it's George and not DAD. I KNEW IT.” George laughed. Marty released the brake and started pushing him again. “So what happens to me if you do all this changing in the past? Do I disappear?” “No Dad!.. Well, I don't know!” “Well that really sucks!” “I know!” Said Marty as he backed George into the house. “I'm sorry. Maybe you don't disappear, maybe this is some sort of alternate reality and when I change things back to the way they are I return to my reality and this one just goes on as it is. Maybe the Marty here belongs here. I don't know. I hope Doc can clear things up.” “Okay,” said George shaking his hand, “Good luck to you. I guess. And I hope I don't erase yourself or something once you leave here in that machine.” “Me too,” agrees Marty, “I kinda like this George Mcfly.” They shared one last long look before Marty turned away and left. George watched him from the screen door as he sprinted to the Delorean. In the garage, Marty got inn, closed the wing door, pulled out and took off down the road, without looking back. George still watched, half expecting to see the Delorean suddenly disappear into a cloud of smoke or something. He had no idea how that time machine worked. “Bye Calvin.” George muttered as the Delorean drove away. Then he turned around and shouted to Lorraine. “Call the lawyer, Marty's in jail again.” “What?” Lorraine yelled from somewhere in the house. “Just like Uncle JOEY!” Dave's voice could be heard saying from another part of the house. “Shut up, Dave!” Both George and Lorraine yelled in unison.
9. ANOTHER DRAG RACE Marty pulled up to an intersection, in front of the Hilldale housing development. His intention was to get far out of town before he made the time jump. However, as he sat there looking at Hilldale, a truck pulled up to the left of him. Marty looked over and it was Needles and his gang driving a red, souped up Ford pickup. They motioned for him to roll down the window. He did. “Nice WHEELS, Mcfly,” said Needles. Where'd you get them?” “It's borrowed,” replied Marty. Needles looked back at the fusion generator modifications. “It looks like you've done some things to it!” “Not me, someone else.” “Is it fast?” “It's faster than the speed of light,” Marty doesn't lie. Needles revved his engine. “Put your money where your mouth is Mcfly, let's see what she can do!” Marty rolls his eyes, “No thanks, I've got somewhere to be.”
“What are you, Mcfly, chicken?” Asks Needles. Marty got mad. Really mad. No one calls him chicken. “Okay, but I get the outside.” Marty threw the Delorean into reverse, burnned rubber, whipped back and then around the truck ending up on the left side of the truck. He wasn't even sure why he did it, he just thought it would look cool. Needles and his gang were hooting and jumping around and Needles revved his engine again. The truck obviously had some real power because it rocked left to right as Needles power breaked. Marty revved the Delorean and it sounded, well, sad in comparison. They laughed harder. The light changes and they are off. Marty dropped down in low and surprisingly the car kept up rather well for a few feet but then the more powerful truck easily pulled away with them laughing hysterically. He continued to accelerate, knowing that they are in for a real shock when he hit 88 mph. As they raced, Marty input the destination into the keypad. The display destination changed to November 14, 1955. By now, the truck had blown way past Marty. As he looked up from inputting the destination, his mouth dropped from a smile to a look of fear. A white Rolls Royce was pulling out from the next intersection, right into the path of Needles' truck. It was Biff Tannen's Rolls Royce. Needles, unable to react in time, t-boned the Rolls Royce. Marty didn't slow down, he kept accelerating and as he passed the accident he looked over to see that Biff appeared to have been driving this time and he was screaming angrily. Apparently unharmed. Everyone seemed to be okay, except Needles, who was slumped over the steering wheel, apparently, unconscious. Both vehicles, however, were obviously totaled. Marty blew past them and a few moments later he hit 88 mph. He was gone, his tires leaving the familiar flame trails. He knew he shouldn't have done the time jump in front of those idiots but who would believe them anyway? Besides, he was going to change all this and none of this will have happened... he hoped. “I hope I succeed,” he said to himself as he time jumped, “I have to succeed.”
10. ANOTHER TRIP TO 1955 In 1955 in Hill Valley paved roads on the outskirts of the town were largely viewed as “highways.” They were built and maintained by the State, to further commerce. Most of the time they sat empty. Which was good for Marty. There was nothing on either side of this road but an occasional tree. It was quiet. Suddenly there were a few small explosions and flashes and the Delorean appeared, breaking the silence. It screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. Marty relaxed. This was his third jump and they were always nerve racking. The time circuit was blinking. He looked around outside and was happy to see that he was right in choosing this particular road for his jump.
“There's nothing here yet,” he congratulated himself. He glanced at the time. “I've got 24 hours to prepare, he told himself. First, I have an old friend to visit.” The thought had originally occurred to him that all he really had to do was arrive early enough on the night Doc died to warn him in advance, but after giving that a lot of thought he realized he would be interacting with Doc right before Doc actually tested the time machine, which would have ruined the need to test the time machine. Marty's mind reeled at the paradoxes this would create. Plus, he also knew that Doc would not approve of his coming back here to 1955 to stop his father from ending up in a wheel chair. No, this was the only possible way Marty could think of to fix everything. He threw the car in gear and took off. In his eagerness the tires squealed a little. The Delorean sped down the road towards town. There's something Marty didn't know about 1955, however. Because vehicles were not as fast in that time period, speed limits were lower. He also didn't know that most outlying roads were speed traps. If he had known these things he might have watched his speed a little closer. He crossed an intersection and a moment later a police car pulled out from behind a group of bushes. Its lights flashing. It gave chase. Marty looked behind him and saw the police car. “Oh SHIT! What now?” He considered running. “I wonder if that cop cars could do 90 in 1955?” He wondered out loud. Not knowing the capabilities of a 1955 police car Marty opted to try and con his way through this. He slowed down and pulled over, with the police car coming up behind. He put his head on the steering wheel, with a deep sigh. He sat there inside the Delorean, with the cop car, lights still flashing, sitting directly behind him for what seemed like an eternity. The officer in the car did not get out. He looked at the display. Time was a ticking. “What is he DOING?” Marty grumbled. Then, it dawned on him that this might just be the same officer who witnessed his earlier time jump, when he was being chased by the gun toting locals. He began to get more and more nervous the more time went on. He also realized that the officer may be using his radio to call in the license plates. The 1985 license plates. “This was a really bad idea,” he scolded himself. A voice emitted from the police car, over its megaphone. “Turn off the vehicle.” Marty started to sweat. If he ran this could turn into a big ordeal with numerous cop cars chasing a time machine through Hill Valley. He was certain Doc would not want that. He still grappled with the desire to just throw the Delorean in gear and run. How was he going to talk himself out of this? He finally sighed and the law abiding citizen in him won over. He turned off the engine. “Step out of your vehicle with your hands up,” the tinny voice over the microphone said. Crestfallen and defeated, Marty opened the wing doors, wondering what the officer back there would do when he saw the door swing up instead of out like every car in existence in 1955. The door hissed open, otherworldly.
Marty stepped out, his hands in the air, trying his best to look as harmless as possible. There was another few awkward moments as the officer looked Marty over. “Probably looking for antenna, or tentacles on me” Marty mumbled to himself. Finally the officer opened his car door and stepped out with his weapon drawn. “Is that necessary?” Marty called out to the policeman. Then, he heard sirens in the distance, approaching. The officer had called for backup. “Backup,” Marty mumbled, “of course he called for backup... great, just perfect!” “I'm not an alien!” He called to the policeman. “Just stay right there,” the officer warned, “don't you move a muscle.”
11. HILL VALLEY BLUES The Hill Valley police station in 1955 looked like something right out of the Andy Griffith show. It was a red brick building with a dispatch office for a lobby and past that, inside the facility an open office with three desks, one for the sheriff and one each for his two deputies. At the aft of the facility were the two holding cells adjacent to each other and the rest room facilities. Deputy Sheriff Bill McCallister sat at his desk typing with two fingers on an old keyboard, his tongue hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Another deputy, Ray Benson, approached Bill's desk carrying something, and Bill doesn't look up, as if almost he can't be interrupted from the grueling job of typing 5 words per minute. “I don't understand kids these days,” said Deputy Benson, “this one has a fake I.D. that says he isn't even born yet.” He threw the license on the desk in front of Deputy McCallister face up, Marty's 1985 I.D. “You were there when we arrested him, he said he works for a movie studio and it's a prop.” McCallster reminded Benson without even looking up from his typewriter. “Yes, and I called the Studio,” Benson said with a slight hint of irritation, “they never heard of him!” “Hmm, what a surprise.” Officer Bill picks it up and reads out loud. “Date of Birth 1968?” Tosses it back down. “Okay, so he's a time traveler, I wonder what the penalty is for speeding and driving without a valid license in 1968?” Benson, who is clearly the officer that Marty encountered that first night, when he was being chased, continued to complain about him, “he told me at first he didn't even have a license.” McCallister chuckled, going back to his paperwork. “And he wasn't lying either, that one is crap.” Benson stared over at the cell where sat Marty on the bunk, head down, looking despondent. “What in the world is that kid up to?” Benson hissed. “Did you see that vehicle,” he leaned forward on the desk, almost whispering to McCallister. “This is like something out of
science fiction theater?” Then he did whisper. “You weren't there that night Bill! That thing came out of nowhere and then just flew off, leaving a trail of fire and smoke!” McCallister glared at Benson coldly. “I thought you weren't watching that sort of stuff anymore, you know it makes you paranoid, and kind of crazy. “ Then his gaze joined Benson's toward Marty. “I'll give him an A for originality anyway. McCallister remarked, “I don't know what he's up to, but he's got imagination! Maybe this is some sort of prank. Half the county knows you believe in little green men, maybe they are messing with you.” Ray frowned deeply at this. “I hope not,” he said, “for their sakes, cuz I might start busting heads!” McCallister glared at him. “You'll do no such thing. Don't you think you should get back out on patrol? I don't think his time traveling friends are going to come any time soon to get him. Although, that vehicle has a fake registration card with the name of that crazy scientist fellow out there past Maple Drive! Maybe HE invented it and it really IS a time machine.” Ray laughed. “Ya, you're right, I'm not biting.” He stood, sniffed deeply, straightened his holster, threw his shoulders back and walked out. Marty had been watching them when they weren't looking. It was fascinating because there was something about this duo that reminded him of Sheriff Taylor and Barney Fife. “Great,” said Marty dryly, “I'm stuck in Mayberry.” After a while McCallister left too, and Marty began pacing back and forth inside the cell. After an hour or so, Bill McCallister entered the office again, and looked right at him. Marty sat down and put his head down again. McCallister just frowned and came toward the cell. “Okay, kid, so, you're license says you were born in 1968 and live on a street that doesn't exist in a house that isn't built yet but is scheduled to be built next year. “ Marty get nervous, wondering how he knew that. McCallister, reading Marty correctly explains, “I checked with the realty office.” McCallister went over to his desk, grabbed his chair, and wheeled it over to the cell. “You're license also says your name is Mcfly, not “Maxwell Smart” like you told my partner when he pulled you over. Marty tried not to chuckle at his own joke. “We have a family by the name of Mcfly here in Hill Valley,” continued the deputy, “I called them. They never heard of you, although they said they had a great uncle by that name.” “No relation” said Marty abruptly, nervously. “I'm not from around here.” The Deputy looked him up and down, scrutinizing his odd apparel. “Ya, no kidding.” “Don't I get a lawyer or a phone call or something?” Asked Marty. Officer Bill stared at him in frustration. “Okay, son, have it your own way. You get ONE phone call but I don't have to give it to you right away. Someone's looking at your car right now, it's in impound, and somehow, I have a feeling there's going to be more questions soon enough.” I can hold you for 48 hours without charging you.” He tapped on the bars. “You better get used to these bars kid.”
“Please tell them to be careful with my car.” Marty pleaded. “It has some delicate experimental equipment from Detroit on board.” “You mean your DMC?” “Yes, officer that's what I said, my car.” “It's interesting, that car matches the description of an odd vehicle that crashed into the old Peabody farm about a week ago. You wouldn't know anything about that either, would you?” Marty shakes his head. McCallister's eyes bored right through him as the tapped his pen on his clip board. “I didn't think so..” He replies sarcastically. “IF and when you get out you can reclaim it as long as you have the fine and the tow charge. I looked through your wallet, all I found was play money with dates on them like 1980. I don't think ole Frank is going to take monopoly money.” “Frank?” The name surprised Marty. “Your tow truck driver's name is Frank?” “Ya,” replied officer Bill. “You know him?” Marty shakes his head. “Not yet anyway.” At that the deputy slightly turned his head and frowned. “You're a strange kid.” “Thanks,” said Marty, facetiously. Which only made Bill McCallister frown harder. The Deputy got up, spun his chair back to its place behind the desk, gave Marty one last long look, then turned and exited the office again, shaking his head as he went. Marty sat back down on the bunk, pulled his legs up, wrapped his arms around his them, then rested his head on his knees.
* * * * * * * * * *
Through the tiny window of the jail cell Marty could see that the sun was now setting. He'd been in that cell all day. He was once again pacing, even more vigorously. He stopped at the front bars. (Hollering) Hello! Is anyone out there? I still didn't get my phone call! There's no response. The pacing started over. As he did he was wondering who he would call anyway. Doc Brown? The Doc Brown in 1955 doesn't even know him. A lonely train whistle was blowing and now moved off, fading into the distance. The mournful sound cut right into Marty's heart and matched his mood. He sat down against the wall under the window and began to hum. Then it turned into singing. His own version of “Folsom Prison Blues.” I hear the train a-comin, it's rolling 'round the bend And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when The folks in Hill Valley don't seem to know I'm here That whistle seems to tell me, soon I'll disappear
He heard the entrance to the jail house open and he paused. He could hear some voices in the dispatch area. He started his song again.
When I was just a baby my mama told me, Son, When you're grown up I want you to have fun. But I got stuck in Hill Valley back in ole 1955 When I hear that whistle blowing, I hang my head and cry
The door to the office opened and Benson emerged leading a drunken man all dressed in black, carrying a guitar strapped to his back. Marty kept singing. Somehow he couldn't help himself. He was on a roll. I see the rich folks eating in that fancy dining car They're probably drinkin' coffee and eatin' caviar Now I ain't crying envy and I ain't crying for me It's just that I have seen things that they ain't never seen
If I owned that lonesome whistle, if that railroad train was mine I bet I'd ride it on a little farther down the line Far from Hill Valley that's where I need to stay And I'd let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away
While Marty was singing the officer helped the man into his cell. His head was down the whole time and a black cowboy hat obscured his face. He seemed drunk enough to barely walk. The song echoed its final notes in the walls as Benson helped the man take the guitar off his back and lay down. “I'll just set this right here, Johnny,” said Benson to the man as he propped the guitar up in the corner. Marty figured this guy must be a local, and probably well liked, if they were going to let him keep his guitar in jail with him. The man said nothing back. He just laid his head back and tilted his hat down over his eyes. Marty stared out the window into the darkness. Trying to see, what, he didn't know.
“Can you sing that little diddy for me again?” The man asked without moving. It was dark in the cells now, the light from the office wasn't very strong back there. Marty couldn't really see the guy well, even if he wasn't hiding his face in his hat, but still there was something familiar about the voice and about the man. He moved closer to the man's cell and peered in, straining his eyes. The man rolled over, and pulled his hat back to reveal his features. a “That sounded real good, son, I'd like to hear it agin.” Marty's eyes expanded to saucer size when he finally recognized the man in the cell next to his. “You're... you're... you're JOHNNY CASH!” Marty gushed. Marty could see the man better now and before him lay the youngest version of Johnny Cash he'd ever lain eyes on. The man finally sat upright. Somewhat surprised himself. “Ya, that's my name, son, how'd you know that?” “I, I, know you're music,” Marty said, instantly realizing he was messing up. He shouldn't be there and certainly should not be interacting with Johnny freakin' Cash. Doc would NOT approve. He decided to say no more and moved away, turning his back and facing out the window again. “You do?” The man sounded pleased. “I hadn't realized the young people still liked my kinda sound, although, I do love the rhythm and blues.” He got up and grabbed his guitar from the corner, moved back to the bunk, sat down and started strumming some 12 bar blues. Marty couldn't believe the coincidence. He was singing Folsom Prison Blues and in walked Johnny Cash himself. “So, let's see,” Johnny was almost talking to himself, “how did that diddy go?” He thought for a second then, slowly, one chord at a time, played the exact guitar hook intro for the song Folsom Prison Blues, then started strumming the first E chord to the rhythm of the song as Marty remembered it. Marty couldn't help it, he turned away from the window and watched the great legendary Johnny Cash as he wrote Fulsom Prisom Blues. Johnny nodded at Marty. “Go ahead, belt it out.” Marty shyly began to sing his version of the song, “Hill Valley Blues.” After the first chorus, however, Johnny stopped playing. “That's a good song but it sounds a bit familiar.” Johnny concentrated. “I think I heard Gordon Jenkins and Beverly Mahr sing a blues song like that.” He considers this a while longer. Then shook his head. “Doesn't matter, blues are the blues. I would sing it a bit different though to make it more marketable.” He started to play it again, this time he launched into the first verse, “I hear a train a comin' it's comin' round the bend, and I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when, well I'm stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin' on...” Marty was beside himself as Johnny worked out the material that will make him famous. “I can't believe I'm watching Johnny Cash write Folsom Prison Blues” Marty muttered, his eyes glittering with joy. “Gotta hand it to you Doc,” he said, whispering to the air, “time travel is pretty damned cool!” When Johnny got to the part where the solo would be he just played the rhythm chords. Marty, in the moment, uses his voice to mimic the lead solo of the guitar, while air guitaring,
getting right into the moment. Johnny Cash tapped his foot, nodded his head, grinning from ear to ear and contintued to play the rhythm. Marty hummed out the entire lead solo of the song and Johnny stopped. “That's pretty damned good ole son! You play?” Marty, blushing, looked down. “I play a little.” “We got to get together then, when we get outa here! “ Johnny told him with sincerity, with enthusiasm. “You can show that little lick to my lead guitarist, if you don't mind?” “Oh,” said Marty, “I have a feeling he probably can come up with the same thing on his own. I'm pretty sure about that.” Johnny thought it through and then shrugged. “Maybe, does sort of sound along his style.” “You're amazing, kid,” said Cash. “What's your name? “It's Mar...” he stopped, catching himself. “Just call me Mac.” Johnny Cash got up and, still shaky on his feet, stumbled slightly over to Marty's side of his cell. He reached his hands through the bars. Marty shook his hand, with stars in his eyes “Name's J.R.” said Johnny, “but, as you already know, my friends just can call me “Johnny.” McCallister entered the office, looking irritated. “That sounded real sweet but I gotta take that guitar Mr. Cash, Benson never shoulda let you keep it. The sheriff will have my ass if he catches you with it in there.” Johnny frowned, looking down at his guitar. The deputy opened the cell and reached out for it. Johnny reluctantly handed it over, slowly. “Take good care of her, now, we go back a ways, me an' Lucille. She's German royalty by descent so be a gentleman.” “Will do,” said the deputy as he took Lucille, handling her with respect. After the deputy was gone Johnny turned back to Marty. “I'm going to get out of here any minute now, how 'bout you?” “I don't know,” replied Marty, “I haven't even got my phone call.” “You don't need one,” said Johnny, “you're with me now and I have some clout around here.” “Ya, I can see that,” Marty said, looking around him at the cells they were in. He just couldn't help his sarcastic tone, even with someone like Johnny Cash. Johnny laughed out loud. “You're funny kid, I like you!”
12. READ MY MIND NO NEW TIME TRAVEL
A line of three cars pulled up and stopped in front of a stately mansion, designed in the classic California American Arts and Craftsman architecture. It was designed by brothers Charles Sumner Greene and Henry Mather Greene of the architectural firm Greene and Greene between the years of 1908–09 for the Von Braun's. It was now known as “the Brown Estate.” Located at 1640 Riverside Drive, the house was by far the most affluent in the Hill Valley community. It was rumored that David B. Gamble (of Proctor and Gamble) owned an almost identical house in Pasadena. It was a three story home, built using traditional Japanese asthetics. There were only a few lights on, and a porch light was lit. The back door
A line of three cars pulled up and stopped in front of a beautiful mansion, designed in the classic California American Arts and Craftsman architecture. It was designed by brothers Charles Sumner and Henry Mather Green between the years of 1908 and 1909 for the then Von Braun family. It was now knows to all as “the Brown Estate.” Located at 1640 Riverside Drive (Marty had got the address from the phone book at Lou's diner), it was the proud home of none other than Doctor Emmet Lathrup Brown, Ph.d. There were a few lights on in the mansion and a light glowed on the front porch. The three vehicles came to a stop and the rear passenger door of the lead vehicle opened. Marty stepped out. Johnny Cash poked his head out, then his arm, and shook Marty's hand. “You got my number now,” Johnny said as he did so. Marty nodded. “Don't hesitate to call me son, if you change your mind about going out on the road with us.” “You haven't even heard me play” Marty smiled. Johnny shook his head. “Don't need to, I got a feel for this. You're destined for great things kid!” Marty smiled a sad smile, doubting it now, considering his current predicament. “Thanks,” he said, nonetheless. Johnny nodded back and then ducked back into his car and closed the door behind him. Marty stood and watched as the cars circled around the drive and pulled away. Everyone in all three vehicles rolled down their windows and waved at him and he waved back. They all looked very familiar to Marty. As they drove away, Marty turned and headed for the front door of the Brown Estate. “I gotta hurry,” Marty said to himself, “I don't have much time and now I don't have a time machine either.” Marty walked up and knocked on the front door. He waited for what seems like a very long time. To the left he saw a curtain rustle, as if someone peeked out. Then without warning the door swung swiftly open wide and a very young looking Doc Brown appeared. His expression could be described as furious. On his head was some sort of contraption. A sort of metal half sphere with what looked like Christmas tree lights decorating it. Doc Brown glared at him in a most ugly fashion. “Marty!” Doc asked him, in a scolding tone, “what are you doing here?”
Marty was taken aback, shocked. “You know me?” Doc looked around outside, as if to make sure no one was watching. He saw the tail lights of the Cash entourage down near the end of his driveway and looked even more upset. “Did someone follow you here?” Marty followed his gaze down the driveway. “No, that was my ride.” Doc frowned deeply, then dragged Marty into the house and closed the door behind them. This was the first time Marty had actually seen the Brown estate except in the newspaper articles from 1962 that hung on the wall in Doc's workshop, which recounted the fire of 1955 which had destroyed it. The interior rooms were built using multiple types of wood, including teak, maple, oak, and mahogany. There was a wooden panel in the entry hall which Doc had once mentioned led to the kitchen. Doc had described this place so many times Marty felt at home there. He knew there was a main staircase, and just before that another panel, adorned with ebony keys that opened to closet space Doc had said the rooms had a low horizontal shape which, because of the natural light that filtered through the art glass windows made the entire interior glow a reddish gold. Doc had often said, quite fondly that the Estate commanded a “grand and stately, yet earthy presence.” Marty could now see that he hadn't been exaggerating at all! It really was quite impressive and Marty found himself saddened to know it was going to be destroyed, and this very year. “Of course I KNOW YOU, what kind of question is that?” Doc unstrapeped the contraption on his head and pulled it off. “What the hell was that on your head?” Marty couldn't help but ask. Doc stared at him like he had lost his mind. “That's my thought reader, Marty, we've had this conversation before!” Doc then moved his face closer to Marty as if examining his pupils. “What's going on with you Marty, are you messing with me?” “A thought reader?” Marty is startled. “So that's how you know who I am, you invented a thought reader?” Doc scoffed and shook his head. “That's not funny, Marty.” He turned away and placed the gangly contraption on his work bench. “Marty, I have no idea what you are doing here this time,” Doc scolded him some more, “but you can forget it, I'm done helping you out of these time jams!” Marty is once again stunned. “This time? Doc, what are you talking about, this is my first time, it's not like I have a time travel hobby or something!” Doc Brown stopsped dead in his tracks and stared at Marty hard again, then he realized this Marty was telling the truth! “GREAT SSSSSCOTT!” He hissed. Doc backed away from Marty like he was contagious. “So you're not the Marty Mcfly who was here just yesterday, the one I sent back to 1885?
Or the one that was here before that?” Marty can't believe his ears. “1885?” He exclaimed in amazement. “No, Doc, I came here in a time machine you built, I need your help...” “To get back to the year 1985,” Doc interrupted him, sitting down on the couch, staring blankly at nothing. “No! Not that, I need your help to figure out what happened to my future.” Doc looked at him hopefully. “So, you're not stranded here in 1955?” Marty shook his head no, “I have PLENTY of plutonium! You put a whole case of it in the Delorean before I … left, well,not you, but the older, 1985 you!” Marty looks exhausted. “Can I sit down? It's been a long day!” Doc Brown looked somewhat relieved and apologetically motioned for him to sit next to him on the lounger. As Marty did so, worry creased Doc's forehead again. “Okay, so now you said there's something wrong with your future? Even if that were so what in blue blazes am I going to do about it?” Marty, looking exasperated. “That's what I've been trying to tell you Doc. “I need a chance to explain.” “Okay Marty,” Doc gave in, but first a few ground rules.” Marty nodded in agreement. “DO NOT tell me ANYTHING about my own future, aside from the fact that I built that infernal time contraption.” Doc began. Marty nodded again. “That's imperative!” Doc said gravely waving a finger. “I especially don't want to hear anything about any disasters that might befall me on the night you came back to 1955, got it?” Marty hesitated. Doc glared at him waiting for him to agree. “Okay,” Marty finally, and reluctantly gave in, “I think I can explain what happened to you the morning I came back here to find you.” Marty chose his words wisely. “Wait,” Doc said holding up his hands. “I'm going to need some tea, I'm getting a headache.” When dock had finished with his tea he emerged through the hidden panel leading to the kitchen. Marty had moved to the lounge chair. Doc set his tea on the coffee table after taking one more sip, glaring at Marty like he was a ghost. Then he sat down on the couch, then he laid down, placing on his forehead a cold compress he had brought with him. He listened, seemingly in agony as Marty began his story.
* * * * * * * * * *
Some time later Marty drew near to the end of his tale he had told, leaving off the important details of the Libyans and Doc's unfortunate demise.
“So, then I came back here, to 1955, but I got arrested and they put me in jail with Johnny Cash, and he got me out of jail because he liked my guitar playing... which he never heard before... but anyway he drove me here.” Marty stopped, awaiting Doc's response. There was a few moments of silence. Doc sat up suddenly, tossing the cold rag aside. “Wait a minute, go back.. you got ARRESTED? And put in JAIL?” “Yes, Doc, but it's no big deal.” “Here, in 1955, in Hill Valley? And the time machine is here in Hill Valley now?” Marty nodded sadly. “Where's the time machine now?” Doc's voice took on a tone of urgency that startled Marty. “That's one of my problems,” says Marty, “they impounded it!” Doc's eyes bug out. “What!?” He jumped up and pulled on his hair. “IMPOUNDED?” Marty was confused. “Ya, Doc but I can get it back... I just need to borrow 100 dollars from you.” Doc leaned forward as if to faint. Exasperated. “Hohhhhh!” He breathed out, then looked at Marty like he was an idiot. “Marty!” Doc began to pace. “Are you even listening to yourself? Marty stated blankly at him, confused. “This is disastrous!” Exclaimed the Doc. “You're telling me that a time machine built in the year 1985, full of weapons grade plutonium from 1985, a substance that is not even readily available in this time frame, and an extra case of which now sits in the trunk, is now in the hands of the local constabulary? Here in 1955?” Doc threw up his hands. “Bah” he shouted in exasperation. Marty stopped, mulling this over. The light bulb coming on. “A time machine or pure plutonium,” Doc continued, still pacing, “in the hands of local municipalities. I can think of many scenarios, either one of which could be a disaster of galactic proportions.” He stopped pacing, facing Marty. “If they turn those things over to the State or worse, FEDERAL authorities!” Marty stands up in horror. “Great Scott!” Doc nodded, running his hands through his hair. “Heavy!” Said Doc, putting his hands on Marty's shoulders. “Kid, do you realize what could happen if weaponry from 1985 made its way into the hands of the 1955 military? We have to get that time machine and that plutonium back right away, that is now our first important priority. Failure to do so could have most dire consequences.” “Nuclear holocaust.” Marty hissed. Doc nodded, his eyes going wide. “The four horsemen of the apocalypse.” Marty nodded then looked down. “You warned me about all this.” Doc stopsped and looks at him. “I did?” “Ya, back in 1985,” Marty explained, “you told me there could be an off chance I'd end up
with the time machine and warned me not to interact with anyone if I go back into the past of into the future, especially you.” “That was good advice Marty!” Marty was thinking out loud. “You must have somehow known ahead of time about Libyans, you gave me that warning just before they shot you!” Doc who was taking a sip of his tea, lurches forward and spits. “Shot me? MARTY!” Marty said “ya, well, you're dead in 1985 Doc, that's one of the reasons I came back, to warn you!” Doc, gagging, stands up and puts his hands over his ears. “Marty, I told you not to reveal to me anything about my direct future beyond the building of the TIME MACHINE!” He yelled. Marty looked only partly ashamed. “Oh, ya, my bad, I forgot.” Seeing Doc's infuriated stare, he looked genuinely sorry, but not really. “It slipped out, I'm sorry!” Doc thought about something for a while, his hands on his hips. Then he went to a drawer and pulled out some torn paper. An envelope. He started laying the pieces out on the table like a puzzle. Marty approached and watched him in curiosity. When Doc was done Marty could make out the words on the envelope. “Do Not Open Until 1985.” Marty seemed again surprised, he recognized his own handwriting when he saw it. “Who gave you that?” “You did,” replied Doc, “well the other you, the one who was here before... twice.” “Twice?” Marty repeated. “You said that before but I don't get it!” “Never mind about all this,” Doc said, putting a large book over the envelope, “we can deal with it later, right now our first priority is to get that time machine!” He looked at his watch. “It's almost dawn, I want to be waiting there for him when he opens at 7:00.” “Ya, well, Doc, I still have a lot of questions and not only that I have to be somewhere around 8:30 this morning.” Doc eyed him with suspicion. “You have an appointment? In 1955? With whom?” “With destiny Doc.” “Marty!” Doc gave him that same warning tone. “You aren't planning to interact with anyone here are you?” “Interact, no” Marty replied, sheepishly, “I just wanted to see something.” Sensing a fib, Doc responded forcefully, “Marty, I don't like that idea, even just your presence here in 1955 could have serious repercussions.” “Ya, tell me about it,” said Marty.
13. ROCKY MCFLY The impound lot for Hill Valley was actually the local junk yard, and it was also owned by Frank, who happened to own the towing company and the Texaco. It was off to the left of the junk yard, sharing a high, 7 foot chain link fence with barbed wire angled outward at the top
In the front was extra privacy, with large plank boards covering the chain link. This was located just on the edge of town, a source of contention to many who did not like the eyesore. Bright and early, Doc Brown backed a tow vehicle in through the now open gate. Marty rode shotgun. They stopped just inside the gate and climbed out. They were in a fenced in court yard with a single shack at the center. Marty looked around for the Delorean through th fencing but didn't see it. “Wait here,” said Doc, I'll go pay the fine. Marty leaned up against the bumper of the rented tow vehicle while Doc made his way into the attendant shack. About 10 minutes later Doc emerged, and the attendant followed locking the door behind him. “I'll be right back with your car... or whatever the heck that thing is.” The crew cut heavy set attendant told them. Marty straightened. “Your driving it?” He shouted out to the attendant. He nodded. “Company policy,” he said, “I can't let anyone back there.” “Well, can you tow it then?” He shook his head, looking confused and just a little bit irritated. “I know how to drive!' “Ya, I'm sure you do,” responded Marty, “but as you may or may not know that is a highly valuable prop from MGM studios and I'd rather you didn't drive it. “Well,” said the attendant, “I don't have a tow vehicle here, and I'd have to charge you for another tow. Doc reached into his pocket, looking down in annoyance, he pulled out the keys to his tow truck and tossed them at the attendant. “You can use mine.” The guy caught it and smiled. “I'll still have to charge you for the tow.” Doc and Marty both glared at him. He started laughing. “I'm just foolin', man you two need to lighten up.” The attendant ran past them, jumped in the truck and started it up. Then he drove it to the back of the court yard, jumped out, unlocked the inner gate and swung it open, then jumped back into the truck, tearing out, and throwing gravel as he entered. “What a lunatic,” remarked the Doc. “Ya, that seems to be a common theme here in Hill Valley circa 1955,” Marty retorted. Doc looked at him funny. “I didn't mean you.” He assured the older man. “I wouldn't think so,” said Doc. As they waited Marty continued an older conversation they were having on the way over. “Doc I told you we don't have to tow it back to your house, it runs good, I just had it tuned up.” “And I told YOU, Marty” objected Doc, “I can't have you driving a 1985 time around 1955 Hill Valley.” Marty looked around. “Okay, whatever you say, you're the Doc, Doc.” Not very long went by and the tow truck reappeared with the Delorean. The attendant pulled it right up next to them.
Immediately they both grabbed the canvas tarp they had brought with them, and before the driver even got out, they were covering the Delorean. “Okay,” said the attendant as they ignored him completely, “I guess that's it.” “Ya, thanks” said Doc, tying the tarp down feverishly. “The keys are in the truck,” the attendant told them as he walked back to his shack, fascinated by how seriously they covered the vehicle. Marty looked at his watch. “Doc! We have to get going, that thing I told you about.” “Marty, I”m going to say this again,” said Doc, again annoyed at his persistence, “we are not sure exactly what you did to alter your future, you coming back here and snooping around in the past can only lead to disaster!” “I hear ya, Doc, but it's on the way home anyway. Didn't you say we have to take the back streets to keep from being seen as much as possible?” Doc nodded. “Well, I know a short cut and it just so happens what I wanted to see is right along the way.” Doc mulled it over. “Then maybe we should take another route.” He decided. “What street did you say this thing happens on?” “Never mind,” Marty said, giving up. In the back of his mind he realized that as long as he had plutonium he had all the time in the world to stop George Mcfly from being put in a wheel chair. Doc finished checking the last tie down on the tarp, then leaned on the tow truck fender, as if exhausted by this tug and pull battle with Marty. “I can't imagine what I was thinking,” he remarked almost to himself, “involving a teenager in time travel experiments! I must somehow lose my mind in the next 30 years.” Marty ignored him, jumping into the passenger side of the truck. Doc Brown moved toward the driver's side door of the tow truck staring into the sky in lament. He climbed in and Marty climbed in. Doc then started the truck in silence and pulled away with Marty looking apprehensively at his watch. Doc eyed him out of the corner of his eye suspiciously. He hid his watch and pretended it meant nothing to him.
* * * * * * * * * *
The old neighborhood, as Marty knew it, in Hill Valley, in 1955 was not so old. It was a vibrant suburban environment. Little pink and white houses, lined up like monopoly pieces. Freshly trimmed lawns. The neighborhood always had a lawn mower going somewhere and it smelled of fresh cut grass and shrubbery almost year round. People walked their dogs leisurely and chatted, waving friendly waves at one another and shouting happy greetings. It was a Norman Rockwell world. The paperboy was just finishing his rounds, two cloth satchels, one on either side of his luggage rack behind the seat. He would reach back and with the expertise of a major league pitcher toss each paper onto everyone's porch.
A milk man stopped at almost every house, running up to the door with his load, grabbing the empties and replacing them with fresh Vitamin D milk. A diaper service was making its rounds as well. George Mcfly was in a hurry, pedaling his bicycle down the street like a madman. He was heading to her house. Lorraine Baines. His new sweetheart. He was dressed in a brown suit coat, matching pants and a white shirt with a thin black tie. This was George's idea of a “courting” outfit. It had only been two days since his fateful encounter with Biff in the parking lot of the school and he was still very much the nerd he had always been. As he approached an intersection and began to cross it, a large black sedan that had been lying in wait in a nearby driveway pulled out, tires squealing and accelerated right toward him. Inside were Biff and his 3 henchmen. They were headed right straight for George as he finished crossing the intersection. Seconds before Biff's car crossed the intersection and would have rammed into George, coming from the other direction was a tow truck. Doc's tow truck. It quickly entered the intersection. Marty, sat up and, seeing his dad and then seeing Biff's car realized what was about to happen and shouted. “STOP!” Doc, in a panic slammed down on the breaks out of pure reflex. They stopped right in the path of Biff's sedan. Coming between Biff and his prize. Biff also slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt. Marty, smiled, satisfied. It couldn't have worked out better if he'd tried to arrange this. Fate was on his side. The top was down on Biff's 1946 Ford Super De Luxe. He was furious. He jumped up and started yelling. “What the HELL is wrong with you?” He shouted at Doc's tow truck, “You MORON?” Doc Brown looked out the window at Biff, then, over at George McFly on his bike, who had stopped and turned to see what was going on himself. Then he glared at Marty, who smiled apologetically and innocently at him. “Wasn't my idea to go this way, remember?” Said Marty innocently. George laid his bike down and out of curiosity began to walk around the tow truck to see what Biff was yelling at. Marty saw this and acted fast, opening the truck door and jumping out, stepping in front of a startled George. “Hey Dad... daddy-o,” Marty said warmly. George stared at him in complete surprise. “Calvin?” Marty jumped in surprise. George of 1985 was right, Calvin was him, or, the other him anyway. “Hey, George buddy, where ya going?” He asked his father. George pointed at the noise on the other side. Doc had got out and was apologizing profusely to a Biff who was growing angrier and angrier that he would not move the truck.
George attempted to croon his neck around and see. “Move this bucket of bolts right now old man or I'll move it for you!” Threatened Biff. “Well, I'm sorry sir,” said Doc, “but I must have flooded it as I entered the intersection, she might take a few minutes for the extra fuel to evaporate.” On the other side of the truck Marty was almost shoving George away, back toward his bike. “Listen, George,” said Marty urgently, “you gotta go right now, take my word for it, you don't want to stick around.” George was still trying to find out what was going on with Biff. Marty ushered him to his bike and picked it up for him, practically forcing him onto it. “I'm telling you George,” he said, “take my word for it and trust me, you need to split right now!” George, looking at Marty's face, realized that maybe he was right. “Okay, well, then” says George, “I was supposed to walk Lorraine to school but I'm late!” “You can't miss that!” Said Marty practically giving him a shove on the bike. “I'll talk to you later!” George started slowly pedaling away, looking back at Marty and the tow truck in complete confusion. Biff was in his car again and he was honking at Doc. Doc was sitting in the truck pretending to try and start it. He held up his hands in a helpless gesture. Biff laid on the horn hard. “Dammit, what a dumbass,” he shouted. Suddenly Marty walked deliberately around the front of the truck, rolling his sleeves up as he went, looking totally unintimidated. His stride was confident and meaningful. Biff, saw him and laid off the horn, unable to believe his eyes! He hopped out of the convertible again, without opening the door. “Well, looky who we have here!” He almost sang the words. He henchmen looked, and also exited the vehicle, their heads down. “You, butthead, KLEIN,” Biff screamed pointing at Marty. “You little SHIT, you got something that belongs to me and I want it back!” “I don't know what you're talking about, BIFF,” Marty denied, spitting out the young man's name like it was a swear word, an insult. Biff looked like he was going to kill Marty. He quickly stomped over to the much smaller kid. He stopped just short of slamming his chest into Marty's face, as he saw Doc getting out of the truck, as if seeing him for the first time. Suddenly, Doc didn't look like some helpless stupid old codger anymore. Biff pointed at Doc and shouted, “You had something to do with all this I'm betting!” Doc looked at him innocently, like he's insane, pointing at himself and innocently shrugging. “Who me?” “I'll deal with you later old man!” Biff turned his attention back to Marty and shoved him hard. He stumbled backwards but never lost his balance and never fell. A few other people from the immediate block were beginning to come out of their houses
and gather on the sidewalks. Biff's henchmen began to circle Marty like a pack of laughing hyenas. “That's real fair, four guys against ONE.” Said Marty. “Ya, you punks” a large man in a white body shirt holding a wrench shouted, “why don't you guys pick on someone your own size.” Marty walked back over toward Biff, defiantly, unafraid. They squared off face to face, or more accurately it was forehead to chin. “Let's you and me settle this mono a mono,” suggested Marty. “Mono what? I ain't got Mono!” Biff said, incredulously. One of the henchmen punched his fist. “That's the kissing disease Biff, this queer wants to kiss you.” Marty explained to the big oaf. “That means just you and me man to man Biff, right here right now!” Biff smirked at the suggestion. His voice went low. “Alright, twerp, you've been asking for this ever since I met you.” “Ahem,” Doc cleared his throat. Marty looked at Doc quizzically. Doc waved him over to him. Marty looked at Biff. “I'll be right back.” “Ya, sure you will.” Biff laughed, then the smile dropped to a menacing frown. “You BETTER!” Marty went over to Doc. Doc whispered, “Marty are you sure you know what you're doing fighting that animal? Look at him he's a brute. Plus, think of what you could be doing to the timeline!” “Yes, Doc, I'm sure, and believe me, that's exactly what I'm thinking about. Doc looks at Biff again uncertainly. Marty leaned in and whispered, “Doc, my dad had money. Boxing lessons twice a week for 6 years, junior varsity boxing champion 3 years in a row.” Doc looked completely impressed, but unyielding in his objections. “No one has ever put this asshole in his place,” Marty said, defiantly, “it's high time he had a good ass whoopin, and I believe I'm the one to do it! Doc looked over at Biff once again. “C'mon runt, let's get to it.” Biff taunted. “What are you chicken?” The color drained from Marty's face. Doc looked back at Marty who was now seething. He nodded and made a gesture as if to say, “be my guest.” “Knock his block off!” Doc told him. Marty hiked up his already rolled sleeves even further, turned and approached Biff bodly. Biff just smirked and ripped his shirt off, handing it to one of his henchmen. A small crowd was now gathered in a small circle around Biff and Marty.
The guy in the body shirt shouted to Doc, “I got 20 says the little guy gets creamed.” Doc looked at him then said, “you got a bet, mister.” The man stepped over and he and Doc shook on the bet, while Marty and Biff were squaring off, moving around each other in a circle. . Marty was dancing now in a typical boxing stance. “Move like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” He said outloud. Biff just looked irritated. One of his henchmen heard Marty and laughed, “hear that Biff, told you the kid was a fairy, talking about butterflies and bees...” Biff didn't look away, he just got madder and madder as Marty kept dancing around him. “Stand still, runt, so I can finish you!” Biff spewed in anger. Marty obliged him, stopping and holding his fists in block position. He took one hand and made a “come get me” gesture to Biff.” Biff moved incredibly fast for a lumbering ox. He was on Marty before the kid expected it and hit him full force with a terrible right hook. Marty's head snapped back like a rag doll and blood spurted out from his nose and his mouth. He flew backward from the impact, falling right next to Doc. Biff grinned from ear to ear and dropped his guard. Doc leaned over a dazed Marty and helped him up. “What are you doing?” Doc whispers. “I'm wearing him down” Marty whispered back. “Oh,” said Doc, “that's what you call it.” Marty brushed himself off. “Okay, so I'm a bit out of practice.” He admitted. Biff is just stood there, arms outstretched, laughing and turning in a circle, looking at everyone as if to say “see.” His typical gloating, he was used to winning his fights with one punch. “Well, I'd suggest you get IN practice” Doc suggested, “and fast.” Marty nodded. “I think your right.” “he put up his dukes again. “Hey!” He yelled at Biff. The big man's back was to him, as if he were leaving. Biff stopped and slowly turned around with a menacing glare. “We aren't done yet!” Said Marty. “I'd say this party is just getting started!” “Well bring it on butt wipe!” Said Biff as he moved in, fists at the ready. This time Marty doesn't just stand there and get hit. Biff tried to deck him straight on but Marty dodged the blow easily, coming back with a right cross that connected surprisingly hard for a little guy. Biff actually staggered back. The crowd murmured. The henchmen started to also move in on Marty, but a couple of large burly men, including the guy in the body shirt, held out their arms to block their path, a look of warning on their faces. Biff took a wild jab at Marty with his left and this was a huge mistake because Marty took
advantage of his greater height and ducked down, moved in under the swing and delivered a left and a right to his chin then a quick left, right left to his abdomen. Biff crumpled over and Marty stepped back, just in time because Biff reached out with his mighty right arm and almost clocked him. Marty danced to the left of Biff then almost got behind him, completely disorienting the big lout. As Biff swung around to face him and take another poke, Marty did a little jig, which confuses Biff just long enough for him to deliver five more devastating blows. Now Marty was dancing around Biff and the big man just looked awkward, like a clumsy oaf, next to the more skilled fighting technique of this newcomer. Biff never connected another blow. Marty was just too damned fast. In the end Marty backed up, surveying the blood face of Biff Tannen, who'd finally met his match and was standing there, dazed, confused, panting hard with exhaustion trying to keep up with this little dynamo. “Had enough?” Marty asked. “Biff, bloody and battered wiped his face and scowled.” Then he put his head down and charged Marty like a bull. But Marty was ready for that. He dodged to the side and gave the big man a shove with his right arm. This threw Biff off balance and he ran, headlong, into the side of the tow truck. The crowd moaned and Doc and Marty winced. Even the henchmen winced. “That's gonna leave a mark,” Marty said, as Biff fell, flat on his face, unconscious. The crowd cheered and Marty ate it up. Doc and the body shirt man settled up on their bet, then Doc stepped forward and held Marty's hand up like a champion at the end of a title match. Marty looked around at the crowd and saw George and Lorraine standing there. Lorrain was clapping wildly with the rest of the crowd, but George was not clapping very enthusiastically. Lorrain shouted. “Yay! Calvin Klein!” She turned to another girl nearby. “That's Calvin Klein, I told you he's a dream boat.” She had to say this loud enough to be heard over the cheers but just as she shouted it, the cheering stopped and everyone heard. The girl only smiled and nodded in agreement and then giggled, looking around at the people who are now looking at them because of Lorraine's remark. Lorraine blushed then hungrily stared at Marty. Marty drops his arms scared now. Doc and Marty share a look, and Doc raised his eyebrows. “Not again,” Said Doc. “Not again, what?” A confused Marty asked. George stopped clapping the moment he heard Lorraine's remark and he now stared down at the ground with a deep expression of defeat and sadness. Marty give George an apologetic look but Doc leaned in and whispered. “We have to get out of here before you end up back in jail.”
Marty blankly stared at Doc as if coming out of a dream. “Ya, right.” As they climbed into the tow truck, Lorraine hurriedly left George gawking on the sidewalk and chased after Marty. “Hi Calvin... Marty,” she said, “it's good to see you again.” “I gotta go,” Marty said. “”Okay,” she looked down a bit disappointed. “When will I see you again?” “I'm not sure,” he sincerely replied. Doc cleared his throat and Marty looked at him. “I'll see you around sometime.” He told her, and closed the door. Doc glared at him. “You know, she's never going to give up now, you're her 'dreamboat.” Marty's eyes grew wide, it was now dawning on him what he had done. He looked out the window as Doc pulled away. George and Lorraine were walking together and he could tell that she was gushing on and on, not about George. His heart sank into his stomach. “What have I done?” He asked. Doc glared at him and nodded as they drove away.
14. BOILING POINTS Marty looked Doc's garage over with some interest. This was the same building that, in 1985 was Doc's home and workshop. It was hard to fathom that in just 30 years a Burger King would sit, just a few feet away from where they now stood. There were no shelves in there, no clocks, no crazy gadgets. It was just a typical garage. The Delorean was parked and still covered. Marty sat in a lawn chair, holding the “Save the Clocktower flier” and looking longingly at Jennier's note. It seemed like a lifetime away. Doc was tinkering behind him on something. “Doc, isn't it strange that when I went back to 1985, Jennifer didn't even really know me? I was just some kid in a band.” “It's probably for the best. You might have discovered that she and you don't have any chemistry in this reality. Maybe she's dating your worst enemy.” “I don't have any enemies, “ Marty said. “Well you might in this timeline!” “Oh!” Is all he could say to that Still staring at the flier. “Okay,” said Doc, straightening up. “I'm finished.” Marty got up and went over to the bench. Doc had taken the pieces of the letter out of the mysterious envelope with Marty's handwriting on it, and he had taped them together so that the letter was now readable. Doc said, “if I'm right about this, this letter will warn me about being shot in 1985!” Marty still didn't understand. “Okay, Doc but what will that prove?” “Nothing really, but it might suggest that had you never come back here and spilled the beans about it I might not have ever read this letter.”
“Okay,” Marty said sarcastically, shrugging. “Marty, don't you see?” Doc explained patiently. “I know for a fact that I survived in 1985 because I go to 2015, the time machine is stolen from me, we get it back, we and the other Marty came back here to 1955 to get a book away from Biff. “The same book he's still looking for?” “Precisely. Once we got the book back, I got struck by lightning and went to 1885.” “Oh, okay,” said Marty, beginning to see. “So, you're saying that none of that would have happened if you didn't survive, so you were SUPPOSED to read this letter, if it warns you about the Libyans.” Doc nods. But I assure you Marty, I had no intention of ever reading this letter, until you came along! “Heavy!” Marty exclaimed, finally getting the picture. Doc picked up his magnifying glass and began to read. “Dear Doctor Brown, on the night I go back in time at 1:30 am you will be shot by terrorists. Please take whatever precautions are necessary to prevent this terrible disaster. You're friend, Marty.” “Doc that's my handwriting, woah.” “Yes and it is proof of my theory.” “Which is?” Doc frowned. “Try to pay attention there might be a quiz later. Marty, just like you said, I was meant to read this letter, I was not supposed to read this letter and I wouldn't have until you let is slip about the Libyans. You're indiscretion rendered my reading of the letter moot.” “If you weren't going to ever read it,” Marty inquired, “why did you keep it?” “Keepsake,” replied Doc. “I was going to press it into my scrap book and include it in my memoirs some day.” Marty shook his head. “I sort of get it Doc, but not really, sorry.” “It suggests, my boy, that you were supposed to come here and let it slip.” “Okay, it was my destiny,” Marty acknowledged. “But how does that get us any closer to knowing how I changed things so drastically by just coming back here for a few minutes. Doc sighed. “Marty, I believe that is precisely why things changed for you. You came back immediately.” Marty looked hopelessly confused. Doc was a born teacher, and he led Marty along in his theory with the patience of a saint. “Since you proceeded back to the future immediately,' Doc further explained, “you never came here, told me about the terrorists and had me read the letter. So, when you got back there I was dead! If I'm right, when you go back now, I will have taken some sort of precautions to prevent being killed that night.” “You would do that?” Marty seemed honestly surprised, “after all that talk about not messing with the space time continuum?” “What, you think I am going to let myself get shot?” Doc asked. “Marty you must know me better than that by now!”
“So you buy a bullet proof vest some day, that's all” Marty blurts. “Armor? I don't think so, too heavy and bulky.” Doc dismissed the suggestion. “No, Doc” Marty explained, “in 1985 they have lightweight vests, light as a regular jacket but they stop bullets.” Doc's eyes lit up. “Everyone has bullet proof vests... makes sense, with all the rampant crime.” Marty let that go, with a shake of the head. “So, what you're saying is that I'm not messing with the timeline, by coming back here, I'm supposed to be here!” Marty asked in amazement. “That is one theory,” Doc said dryly, “there could be other explanations.” “So, if that's true, then whatever happened to my Dad and the rest of my family happened because I wasn't here to STOP it!” Marty was excited now. I might have fixed everything already!” Doc shook his head. “Don't jump to conclusions. “The other Marty had a family photo.” Marty nods, “so do I.” “Let me see it.” Marty pulled out his wallet and handed over the Disney Land photo of he and his siblings. When Doc inspected it under the light with his magnifier he hissed, shook his head, and exclaimed, “Damn!” Marty, alarmed, grabbed the picture back and the magnifier and looked at it himself. “It's just as I suspected,” said Doc, wandering off, his hands on his hips, deeply disturbed. “Wait a minute Doc,” said Marty in alarm, “my brother Dave's head is starting to disappear in the picture!” Doc Brown slapped his hands to his sides. “Of course it is” he said in frustration. Marty approached him, and in desperation asked, “what does it mean, Doc?” “It means,” Doc said moanfully, “just as I predicted, you made matters worse, now your brother and sister are being erased from the family photo and if we don't repair the damage eventually you'll be erased... from EXISTENCE!” “Woah, now wait a minute Doc.” Marty followed Doc who is just wandering aimlessly around the garage now. “How is that possible I haven't done anything!” He stopped and Doc turned, glaring at him. “Oh no... ROCKY?” Marty is shocked. “You know about the Rocky movies?” Doc shakes his head in irritation. “Marty focus, never mind all that.” He nodded. “So how did my beating up Biff cause me to be erased in the future? It makes no sense.” Doc paces angrily. “It makes perfect sense Marty, your mother was amorously infatuated with the other Marty, he barely got your parents back together, I told you this entire story.” “Ya, ya, the dance and dad decking Biff, but those things still happened right?” “Yes,” Doc was trying not to lose his patience, “we haven't changed the past Marty, we've altered the future even more. You saw how your mother reacted to your victory, I'm afraid she's forgetting all about poor meek George Mcfly again, she's found a Knight in shining
armor who can..” his tone was mocking, '...protect the woman he loves.” Doc slapped his sides again and sits down. Glaring at Marty in total frustration. “Woah, this is heavy Doc, you're saying my mom has the hots for me.” “Yes, yes, we've had this conversation before,” Doc is peeved now, “we have to figure out a way to fix this Marty, or the future that we've already seen, the future that the original Marty experienced is going to go away and maybe he might even be erased! Who knows what repercussions can come of this one tiny change to the timeline. Like when a butterfly's wings fluttering results in a huge storm some day.” “Move like a butterfly, sting like a bee...” Marty mumbled in amazement. “The butterfly effect!” Doc said, getting up and pacing now. “Marty, I'm afraid you haven't fixed a thing.” Doc announced. “You are going to have to figure a way to get your mother to fall in love with your father all over again, she needs to forget about you and see only him!” Marty thinks about this. “Okay, Doc, no problem. This is a no brainer. I'll just disappear. I'll go away and never come back.” Doc shook his head. “That won't work, Marty, if that could work your plans to go immediately back to the future from here would have fixed the problem.” “Wow, this time travel stuff is messing with my head a little, Doc. So what do I do?” Asked Marty helplessly. “Marty, I'm afraid you're stuck here for the time being.” Doc couldn't believe he was having this same exact conversation, again, with yet another Marty Mcfly. “I don't know how long you have until you vanish completely from the timeline. The last Marty only had a week. You are going to have to use whatever time you have left here to work to get your parents back together and get your mother to forget all about you as a potential mate!” “Don't say it like that Doc” protested Marty, “it's really creepy!” “Well, that's the truth! “ Doc insisted. “There has to be a pivotal moment, a boiling point as you will,” Doc was thinking out loud. “A boiling point?” Marty echoes in confusion. “Yes, a significant event in both your parent's relationship when your mother fully commits to being with your father for the rest of her life! Before, that was supposed to be their kiss on the dance floor, but you destroyed that timeline!” “OH!” Said Marty, the light finally coming on in his head. “Like the FIRE!” Doc looked at him with concern. “Ya, Doc, listen, in about a month or so my dad saves a bunch of people from a fire and becomes the town hero! My mom always said she was having cold feet until that moment then she knew that my dad was the man for her.” “Hmmm,” Doc thought about this. “Do you know the circumstances of this fire?” “NO! Dad would never talk about it.” Marty sat down, sad that he doesn't know more. Suddenly Marty remembered something and his eyes light up. “Doc, wait, I have an idea.” He ran to the Delorean and untied the tarp covering it. He lifted it up enough to open the door. He climbed half in and when he re-emerged he had the JVC GR-C1U Movie Recorder in his hand.
When he approached Doc, the scientist put up his hand. “Don't bother with that, I don't want to see anything about my future I already know too much!” “No!” Said Marty, “I recorded my parents before I got sent back to 1955! My whole family is on here, Doc, and the last time I looked on this tape my father was in a wheel chair, everything was all wrong. It was like the changes that got made in the future were overwritten on the tape somehow.” “That's the ripple effect,” Doc explained. “Just as your siblings are disappearing from your family photo, any change you make back here now will be overwritten in the future.” “So,” said Marty, lifting the camera up and looking through the electronic viewfinder display., “lets see if I fixed things!” He rewound it with one hand without looking. What he saw, however, was completely nonsensical. It was like two different movies double exposed over each other. “I can't make sense of this,” he said. “I see my dad and he's not in a wheel chair anymore, I see me, my mom is barely visible, fading out, my brother, with the top of his head gone, and my sister, but my dad is acting like no one is in the room with him.” Marty stopped and stared at Doc in confusion. Doc, without looking in the camera, moved away and leaned on the work bench. Sounding exhausted he explained. “Of course your father is not in a wheel chair because we're past that boiling point in time. It's been overwritten. Your family members are fading because we haven't yet reached the boiling point of when your parents finally commit to each other.” Once again Marty stares at him blankly, not comprehending. Doc sighed again. “It means your mother and your father never end up together in this new timeline, you've permanently damaged their future together. They probably don't even speak! Doc goes over to him and puts both hands on his shoulders. “Marty you have to face facts, your entire family's future depends on what you do here in 1955 now.” Doc stopped, his eyes bulge and he has a “eureka” moment. “Great SCOTT, that's IT!” Doc exclaimed as he dropped his arms and paced again. “All of the changes that have occurred since you came here the first time have happened, not because of something you did in the past, but because of something you didn't do! You didn't come tell me about the Libyans, and I was shot by the Libyans. You didn't go stop George from being hit by Biff's car, so George ended up in a wheel chair.” “Wait a minute Doc. Are you saying that I am SUPPOSED to be here in 1955, that my future depends on it?” “Precisely.” Marty looked at the Delorean then the camera. “Woah, that's....” “Heavy,” Doc finished his sentence, “ya I know.” “Doc, how is that even possible, isn't that sort of like some kind of destiny?” “It's actually a paradoxical predestination,” Doc said clinically, “but it's not without the realm of possibility in a time travel scenario such as this. The future is based on probabilities and some probabilities are so mathematically likely as to be virtually inevitable.” “I don't speak science geek, Doc!”
Doc grabbed a chalk board and wheeled it over. Like a professor he began a short lesson on the subject. He drew a line. “This is the original timeline, from which the original Marty came.” Doc expounded. He tapped on the end of the line with his chalk. “This is the present.” He waved the chalk around at the empty space beyond the line. “This empty space ahead of the line is the future, it's a “blank slate.” As each decision is made and each event occurs, another possible future springs forth from the present. “Doc began making numerous other lines that spread off from the end of the first line in a fan shape. “Each one of these possible futures exists separately, and each event sequence creates “another world” within the universe, all of these possible worlds and future timelines co-exist with each other, separately.” Marty stood in awe of Doc's knowledge on this subject. “So, I come from another “world” than the first Marty who came here, but his actions effected me and my future world, I don't understand how that works.” Doc tapped the end of the single line again where the other lines fan off. “This present represents the point in time after the first Marty's interference, and after George decks Biff at the dance. Because of where your future sprang from, of course your history includes the events created by the original Marty, you are a PRODUCT of those probabilities. You're future sprang forth from the moment in time somewhere AFTER you go back to 1955 the first time.” Doc took a different colored chalk and drew another line. “You and the family you know are on a timeline that was started AFTER the events that are happening now. When you went back to 1955 the first time you proceeded to the most logical and probable of futures from THAT moment in time.” “OH!” Marty almost begins to understand now. “It doesn't matter,” said Doc, “you may not understand it fully, heck, I'm not even sure that I do. All you need to know is that if you want to get back to the future you remember (or one identical to it) you have to recreate the circumstances that created your reality and then you can proceed down that path to its logical conclusion.” “So, you're saying that even though I wasn't born yet I created my own future here in 1955?” “That's an oversimplification,” Doc protests, “but close enough.” Doc put down the chalk. “There's just one problem now, Marty,” he looked at the young man with sympathy, “I believe your rash decision to confront Biff the way you did has created an entirely new future, you've somehow interfered with the natural course of your parents' relationship. This fire of which you speak, it sounds like that was a pivotal moment in your parents' lives and led to their long happy marriage, evidently that never happens now because of your fight with Biff. We need to know more.” “So why don't I just use the time machine to go back in time and stop myself from making this mistake, save George some other way?” “Absolutely not!” Doc glared at him. “Marty, have you learned nothing yet? More time travel to fix the problems of time travel will only result in further pollution of the time stream. You could end up tearing a rift in the space/time continuum.” “I could go to the future in the time machine and find out what happens.” Marty suggested hopefully. “It won't work,” Doc tells him flatly. “Any future you go to from here is a future where those
events didn't happen, and where you don't exist.” “Right!” Marty nods as if understanding what Doc just said. “Besides,” Doc added, “since you don't exist in the future if you go there now chances are you will jump past the boiling point in which case all you have done is fast forward to a moment when you don't exist. You'll vanish instantly. You can't exist past the critical moment in which your fate is decided.” “But you could probably go right,” Marty suggests again, and you could find out what actually happens, or doesn't happen, you can find out why I don't exist.” “No, Marty because the future is not written yet. If I go into the time machine and proceed to the future I only go to the most probable extrapolation of events from the very moment I leave to go forward.” “Ya” said Marty almost sarcastically, “that pesky probable extrapolation thing.” Doc finished, “Anything I see in the future will be purely theoretical and based only on what is happening now.” “So how do we find out about the fire?” Marty is totally frustrated. “We don't!” Doc said flatly. “So we're screwed! I destroyed my whole family!” “No, Marty, you just can't bank on making the fire happen. Besides, even if you did know the exact circumstances, what would you do, light a fire somewhere, put people's lives at risk, hope your father saves them?” “I see,” said Marty, “so I'm just going to have to forget about that fire and find some new way to make my mother look at my father like some sort of hero.” “Exactly!” Doc agreed, happy that Marty finally got it. “You're going to have to go back to High School,” Doc informs him flatly, “thankfully, you're technically already enrolled as my nephew, Calvin Martin Klein.” “I'm going to go to High School in 1955?” “Yep,” Doc confirmed. “For how long?” “For however long it takes Marty!” “I'll graduate 12 years before I'm even born! That's going to be hard to explain on a resume' Doc!” Doc nods at this. “Of course, that's assuming you aren't erased before that.” “Thanks for reminding me.” “You're welcome.”
15. A BRAND NEW GEORGE It was a bright and sunny day in Hill Valley. The birds were singing in the town square, squirrels ran across the lawn. People were out shopping and going in and out of Lou's Diner. George and Marty walked together down the sidewalk, past the Diner, to a small shop called “Ruth's Frock Shop.” As they approach the entrance George stopped at the doorway as if afraid of it.
“I don't understand what we're doing here,” complained George. “Listen, George,” replied Marty, “I already told you, I came into some extra money recently and I want to spend it on my bud.” He slapped his hand on George's shoulder and he flinched then shook his head. “But I don't understand why you want to buy me clothes. What's wrong with mine?” Marty looks at his clothes, frowning, then, sees his offended look. “Nothing, nothing at all George, but there's always room for improvement, right? He took his father by the arm and began to usher him into the store. “Wouldn't you like to have some really great threads to wear, you can impress Lorraine with them.” “Clothes don't make the man,” George said with conviction. “Besides, If Lorraine isn't impressed with me, she's not going to be impressed with my clothes,” He pontificated. “You can never judge a book by its cover.” “Ya, ya,” Marty said practically dragging him into the store, “if you keep believing that you'll never get anywhere in life. George haven't you ever heard the saying 'dress for success?” That caught George's interest, “no, I haven't, where did you hear that, is that Dale Carnegie?” “Sure, it's whoever you want it to be,” said Marty, leading George over to the men's section. “Now George,” Marty reminded him, “money is no object buddy, pick out whatever you like, the sky's the limit.” George looked around. “I don't know, nothing looks like it's in my size.” He started to walk away. Just then a slick salesman stepped up. “Nonsense!” Said the salesman, sizing George up and down. He smelled a big fish. “We've got plenty of duds in your size.” “I don't wear duds,” said George, “I like comfortable clothes.” “These are VERY comfortable” Marty assured him. “Well, do you want me to dress like you or something?” Asked George? Marty hesitated. “Well, no George, that would just be weird now wouldn't it?” “This whole thing is weird if you ask me,” George grumbled. The salesman looked at Marty's attire and laughed, then said to George, “No, no, that will never do for you!” He coaxed George away from Marty. “You're much too distinguished and debonair to dress like that hipster!” “Hey, I'm debonair...” Marty objected. The salesman looked back and made a shewing motion to him. Marty took the hint and let the guy work his magic on George. The salesman began to show him some really nice shoes. Marty called after the salesman, “he needs the whole ball of wax and make him look hip.” George doesn't like the sound of that. “I don't want to look, “hip...” The salesman looked back at Marty questioningly and Marty mouths the word... “hip,” and holds up a wad of cash. The salesman grinned wickedly then went to a pair of Sullivan slip on boat shoes, white and brown. Marty hung back for a while and began to browse a bit himself. He kind of tugged at a
dress, he recognized it as the same exact dress his mother always had hanging in her closet, or it was just like it. He muttered. “My mom had one like this.” Looking up he sees a woman shopping staring at him oddly. “My mom has one just like it,” he said in embarassment. The woman just said, “mm hmmm.” He blushed, put his hands in his pockets, turned and walked outside. Standing there in the doorway he looked around. There were plenty of people hustling and bustling here and there in the late afternoon. “Marty!” He heard a familiar voice and turned. His mother. She stepped right up to him, looking at him like he was a movie star. The girl with her, Babs, was trying not to giggle and she too is giving Marty quick short looks of admiration. “Oh, Lorraine, hi,” Marty said nervously. “What are you doing?” She asked. “Oh, just hanging out.” Is all he could think to say. “In front of a clothing store?” “Well, ya, I was thinking of... buying some... clothes.” “Well, that makes sense,” she said, but I think your clothes are just dreamy!” She moved in closer and he blushed, backing up against the store window. “I haven't seen you since the fight.” She said, in a sultry voice. “I've been busy.” Marty replied, taking a quick glance back in the store to make sure George doesn't see him talking to Lorraine. “We never got to finish our date.” Lorraine said, moving a bit closer and dropping her voice low. “Ya, well, I thought you and George were an item now.” “Well, like I said, he's kind of cute and all, and he's very smart, but I like a man who can handle himself in a jam. You know, protect the one he loves.” “George can handle himself!” Marty defended his future father. “Remember what he did to Biff at the dance.” “Yes, I remember,” said Lorraine, “and I do appreciate it, but I think maybe that was just a lucky punch.” Marty was visibly uncomfortable. “You look like you're a professional boxer.” Lorraine moved closer. “I like strong...” closer she moved as Marty squeezed himself further back against the glass, “...athletic men.” “I never knew that about you,” he said, pinned up and turning beet red. “There's a lot you don't know about me Calvin Marty Klein!” “Ya, well, I always kinda thought of you as more than just a sister.” “Well, brothers and sisters don't date each other at school dances, and make out in the parking lot, silly,” said Lorraine, backing off and looking a bit miffed. “That would be kind of creepy.” “Oh,” he laughed nervously, “I guess you have a point there, but we really didn't make out, did we?” Marty countered.
“There's plenty of time for that,” said Lorraine, as she pulled some lipstick out of her purse and a mirror and began freshening up, as if in preparation. Babs stood there giggling. Marty looked into the shop and saw that it's possible George may be finished. The salesman was putting stuff in boxes and he waved at Marty to come in. “Listen,” he said, inching past her toward the door, “I really gotta go but I'll see ya in school okay?” She looked totally disappointed and confused by his avoidance. “You sure will! We can sit together in the lunch room if you want.” He nodded and ducked back into the store. Lorraine and Babs continue walking. “I never seen a boy play so hard to get before,” said Lorraine in frustration. “Ya, but it's kind of, sexy...” Babs remarked. Lorraine giggled. “Yes, it is, very. He's so shy, it drives me crazy! But I can work with that!” “I know you CAN,” said Babs. They both laughed together as they walked away. Luckily, George was around a corner from the cash register and from his angle he could not see the provocative exchange between Marty and Lorraine.
* * * * * * * * * * Most Americans who attended public schools know what a school cafeteria looks like. If you've seen one, you've seen them all. They usually double as the gymnasium and have the fold out bleachers lining the walls, and a stage at one end. The Hill Valley High school was no different, and it hadn't changed in 30 years. It was just as Marty had always known it. Attending Hill Valley High school over 12 years before he was born was a mind bender, to be sure. Not only were they styles different, the language was different, the customs were different, it was literally a “whole new world.” He'd been there almost a week now, and it was getting increasingly harder to fend off his mother's advances. He would sometimes sit in the cafeteria, staring at that stage, trying to fathom how, 30 years from now, he'd be standing on that stage playing a form of rock and roll that wouldn't even be invented for another 20 years or so. On this particular day, Marty walked with George through the cafeteria (as he did most days). He was sticking to his dad just like glue. This seemed to wear on George with each passing day though. Doc's plan just wasn't working. They both have their trays. George was finally dressed to the hilt in his new clothes but people don't even seem to notice him. A couple of guys came up and tried to talk to Marty. “Hey, we heard what you did to Biff last week there Klein, way to go!” “Thanks,” said Marty, halfheartedly, “but it was nothing, not like what George did at the dance.”
George kept walking to his seat, saying nothing to the two boys who just sort of waylaid Marty. “That's not what I heard,” said the one kid, “I heard you mopped the floor with him like some kind of Rocky Marciano.” Marty stared at him oddly, looked over at George and absent mindedly corrected the boy. “You mean Rocky Balboa.” The kid stared at him oddly. Marty walked away, heading for where George was. The kid turned to his friend who looked equally as confused. “Who the hell is Rocky Balboa?” The other kid shrugged. George always sat at the same damned table. The kid called after Marty. “You should think about running for student council!” George just kept eating as Marty sat down. Marty slowly started to eat. “Hey, George,” Marty broke up the silence, “you really need to ask Lorraine out on another date.” “Why?” George asked dryly. “Why would she want to go out with me?” “Because you're George Mcfly, dammit,” Marty said with conviction. “Well, I think she'd rather go out with someone else.” George said. “Who?” Marty asked in confusion. Without looking up from his food he pointed. “With you.” “Me?” Marty repeated, startled. Just then Lorraine and Babs joined them at the table. Lorraine on one side of Marty, Babs on the other. He was sandwiched between them. He hung his head in frustration. “Hi Marty.” Lorraine bubbles. Marty looks at her, then Babs. “Ladies,” is all he could say. “George,” Marty growlsed at him. “Hi Lorraine, hi Babs,” George finally said, reluctantly. They barely acknowledged him. Keeping their attention mainly on Marty. “So, Marty,” said Lorrain after a minute or so went by, “we should finish our conversation.” “Ya, well, maybe later,” Marty answered her, “right now George and I were just talking about his up and coming novel. Weren't we George?” “I don't have an up and coming novel,” George denied. “George is writer.” Marty told them, “Did you know that?” “Mmm,” she said, looking at George for a second then turning back to Marty. “I'm more of a movie buff. I like James Dean movies! How 'bout you?” Marty knew she was hinting around for him to ask her to the movies. He's heard about the new James Dean movie coming soon. “You remind me of James Dean” offered Babs. Marty scoffed, still wearing his 1985 commemorative James Dean leather. He looks down at it and swallows hard, cursing his stupidity. He knew his mother LOVED James Dean!
What the hell was he thinking? It was becoming painfully and uncomfortably hard to deny that his own mother was deeply attracted to his “bad boy” image. “Ya, you do remind me of James Dean,” agreed Lorraine, putting her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands, dreamy eyed, “only more handsome!” “I read he's got a new movie coming out next year called “Giant.” Said Babs. “Ya, well, I think George here is more like James Dean than I am.” Marty offerered, a bit lame. “Be serious,” says Lorraine. George looks up and glares. “Oh, not that you aren't cool in your own way,” Lorraine added, feeling the heat of his stare. “I like the new clothes by the way.” “Ya,” said Babs, “you look like the cat's meow George.” “They're hot and uncomfortable.” George said coldly and got up, taking his tray and heading for the dish line. `“Okay, ladies,” Marty said, getting up to follow, “it's been nice talking to you, see you around.” The ladies stare after Marty sadly as he tagged along behind an unhappy George. “Are you going to follow me to the bathroom too?” George demanded as he put his tray on the dirty dish line. “Naw,” replied Marty, sadly, “I just still need to talk to you about this Lorraine thing is all.” “There's nothing to talk about,” he stomped off, “it's obvious she likes you better, I hope you two are very happy together.” “No, George,” Marty protested loudly practically running to keep up with him, “that's where you're wrong, buddy, I know for a fact she's crazy about you. She's just playing it, cool.” “Cold, is more like it.” George remarked as he exited the lunchroom. Marty stopped to take one last look at Lorraine and sure enough she was still watching him. She waved and he nervously smiled and nodded back. Suddenly, from out in the hallway, he heard a familiar voice out in the hall where George had retreated. “Hey MCFLY!” Marty rolled his eyes. “Biff!” He moaned the name. He hurried out into the hallway and there Biff was, stepping up to George who had put his head down submissively. “You got a knuckle sandwich coming after that sucker punch the other night!” Biff said, sporting the black eye and a huge red lump on his forehead he still had from last week's unfortunate encounter with Rocky Mcfly. He also had a scabbed over lip. When Marty emerges from the swinging door of the cafeteria, fists clenched, Biff didn't see him. “Hey, BUTTHEAD,” shouted Marty. “I guess you didn't learn your lesson the other day?” Biff immediately backed off of George. “Mind your own business KLEIN,” Biff retorted weakly, still backing up, his tone not so menacing anymore. “This is between me and Mcfly.”
“Ya, well, anything you have to say to my friend George, here, you have to say to ME.” Sid Marty, stepping between George and Biff. George rolled his eyes and his face turned red. “What, are you his mommy or something?” Biff laughed and his henchmen laughed with him. In fact, the small crowd that was gathering now in the hallway, eager to see for themselves “Rocky” Mcfly in action, also laughed. “I'm warning you right now, Tannen,” Marty squared off with Biff yet again, “stay away from George Mcfly. I'm not playing around!” “Ooooh,” Biff said, mocking him. But still he backed up yet a few more steps when Marty stpped toward him. Wary. “I'm not afraid of you Klein.” “Well then you're as dumb as you are ugly,” Marty said. The growing crowd in the hallway laughed again. Biff didn't know how to respond. “I'm not ugly,” is all he could think to say. The henchmen look at Biff in amazement and dismay, realizing this runt of a new kid has got Biff spooked for the first time in history. “Oh, but you ARE stupid?” Marty took another step toward him. Biff took another step back, appearing more and more uncertain of himself. “C'mon BIFF,” one of his henchmen said, “we got better things to do.” Biff, actually looked grateful for the save. He slunk away and, pushed past the crowd of people holding open the cafeteria doors, with Lorraine in the front, staring at Marty, her heart in her eyes. She and Marty share a look, then Marty turned and saw that George was nowhere in sight anymore. “Dammit, George” he muttered, “you are one slippery eel.” He headed down the black and white checkered marble hallway looking for his father.
16. MOVE LIKE A BUTTERLY EFFECT, STING LIKE A MCFLY Marty sat with Doc at the dinner table. Neither one of them spoke much as they ate meatloaf. Marty was never crazy about meatloaf, but he had to admit, Doc Brown had a secret talent, he could actually cook. Who knew? The only sound was the clanking of forks against plates. It had been almost 2 weeks since Marty started going to Hill Valley High School and he was still trying to figure out how to get his mother interested in his father again. Finally, Doc broke the awkward silence. “Marty, whatever it is your doing down at that school is just not working!” He told his young friend. “I know, I know,” Marty admitted. “Doc, I'm pulling my hair out here. She won't even look at my old man anymore, she just follows me around and the more I ignore her the more she seems to be interested in me! I've never seen anything like it! “Never?” Doc Brown asked? “No, why?” Asked Marty. “Should I have?” “Marty, Marty,” said Doc, this is typical female behavior. “It is?” Marty was stunned. This was really news.
“Yes, Marty! No wonder you only ever had one girlfriend. It drives women crazy when you make yourself unavailable! They will hunt you! It's in their nature.” “Get outa town, Doc!” Marty couldn't believe his ears. “Are you telling me you know about women too? Doc put down his fork in disgust. “Marty, I'm not a eunuch. I have had a few romances in my life.” Marty truly was surprised, this was a side of Doc Brown Marty had never seen. “What kind of women have you dated, Doc?” Doc just got angry. “Never mind that, we need to talk about your failure to get your mother to lose interest in you and your failure to figure out how to make your father more appealing to her. “I just can't figure this out Doc,” replied Marty, “I suck at matchmaking.” “They're your parents,” Doc exclaimed in frustration, “and you barely know them!” “Doc,” Marty said, “these two are nothing like my parents, they look like my parents, they sound like my parents, and now they both dress like my parents, but trust me, they are NOT my parents.” Doc stopped mid bite. “What did you just say?” Marty shrugged. “I said trust me, they are not my parents.” “No before that,” Doc said urgently, “what was that you said before?” Confused Marty thought back. “I said they look like my parents, they sound like my parents, and now they both dress like my parents...” “That's it!” Doc said, excitedly. “Why do you say NOW they both dress like your parents?” “Because,” explained Marty, “before George was dressing like some kind of revenge of the nerds, until I took him to the store. He walked out of there looking like my father....” Marty stopped, his eyes lighting up when he saw where Doc was going. “So, you are the one who taught your father how...” “How to dress!” Marty finished his sentence, straightening in his chair. My dad got his style from me? Doc, that's crazy! How is that even possible? As far back as I can remember my father liked the same style clothes, a bit outdated but he wore them well!” “From all that I understand about the universe,” said Doc ominously, “it shouldn't be possible!” Marty swallowed hard. “Ya, Doc, but what does it mean?” “I don't know,” the Doc told him, “I need time to think about this.” Marty looked up at the calendar on the wall behind Doc. “Well, you've got about 13 more days to figure it out Doc. I'm dying here. I'm out of ideas. There was another 30 minutes of silence and more clanking on plates with forks as they finished their dinner, both of them trying to figure out the significance of this new revelation. They cleaned up together, still not saying much. As Marty was drying the dishes and handing them to the Doc, who then put them away, Doc brown suddenly stopped in his tracks and smiled at Marty.
“What?” Asked Marty. “I think I have it,” the Doc replied, “but I need to know more about your father to be sure.” “Well, I'll tell you what I can,” pledged Marty. “My dad got me started in boxing,” Marty blurted out. “He said he “dabbled' a little in High School. A friend got him interested in it!” Doc Brown pointed at Marty, an intense look of satisfaction all over his face. Marty smiled. “I get it Doc. I got this!”
* * * * * * * * * * George Mcfly's garage was small and dark. It didn't look like a car had parked in there in years. It was extremely cluttered. Marty and George were both dressed in athletic wear. Marty finished hanging a boxing speed bag from a low hanging rafter near the far wall. George was taking halfhearted pokes at a nearby punching bag. Marty let the speed bag hang and began to hit it in a perfect rhythm. George watched him intently. When he was done George took a hard poke at the 60 pounder. “You expect me to do that sort of stuff?” George protested. “I'm not very athletic.” “No, George, I know for a FACT that you ARE.” Said Marty. He walked over to him while taking of his boxing gloves, then steered him to the speed bag . “You can accomplish anything if you put your mind to it.” George half heartedly banged on the speed bag with his closed fists and quickly lost rhythm as it swung around wildly in a circle. “No,” Marty instructed him gently, “you have to open your hands, don't make a fist.” He demonstrated, starting slowly. “Hit in small circles and count to yourself like your marching, left, left, left, right, left.” George stepped up and tried it again. He got a bit of a rhythm going for a few seconds, not very fast then it went wildly in a circle again. George, frustrated, glared at Marty. “You're getting it,” Marty assured him. George frowned, skeptically. “Here put your gloves back on,” Marty said, handing them to him. He complied. “Let's try the punching bag.” Marty moved to the 60 pounder and hugged it. “Okay, George, now come over here and hit this thing as hard as you can hit it.” George was now quite irritated and he took it out on the punching bag. Marty was actually knocked back a bit. “Woah!” Marty exclaimed, impressed. “You have a helluva left! I can see how you decked Biff in one punch.” George looked down, almost ashamed. “I never meant to do that, I lost my temper.”
“No, George, don't apologize, dammit!” Marty went over to him and grabed his arms. “Don't ever apologize for sticking up for yourself, or the woman you love.” George blushed and looked down again. “I hardly know her,” said George sheepishly. “Okay, the woman you WANT to love.” Marty corrected himself. George blushed even harder. “Listen, George, I don't know how much time I have here so we have got to really concentrate on this stuff.” Marty put on his own gloves. “Okay, George show me the fighting stance I taught you.” George lifted up his arms and and slightly spread his legs apart awkwardly. Attempting to balance himself the way Marty showed him earlier. Marty stopeds, put his arms down and moved toward George, looking down. He took his left foot and guidds George's feet into a better stance. Then he baceds up, rubbed his glove against the side of his nose, and got back into boxing stance. “Okay, George,” Marty said, “moment of truth. I want you to come at me.” “What,” George sounded nervous, “you want me to just punch you?” “George, I want you to try to knock my block off!” Replied Marty emphatically. “You know you want to. Hit me George! Hit me Mcfly!” George hesitated. “Hey Mcfly,” Marty does his best Biff impression, “I thought I told you never to come in here!” George rolled his eyes. Marty put his gloves down. “George, you gotta take this seriously if you're going to learn to fight.” “That's just it,” says George, “maybe I don't want to learn to fight. Maybe I don't have to fight to be a man! MAYBE, it takes a bigger man to WALK AWAY!” “Ya, but George, you gotta be able to defend yourself. Your life just might depend on it some day. Heck, maybe someday Lorraine's life might depend on it. Or even...” he hesitated to say it, “even mine!” George picked up his gloves again, reluctantly, and the two young men circled each other. George took a few stabs at him. Marty blocked and dodged them easily. But he smiled. “Good,” Marty encouraged him, “real good George, you're a natural, it probably runs in the blood! Go ahead, try to breach my defenses.” George was hesitating again as Marty danced around him, poking at him with half jabs. “Mfly!” Marty did Biff again. George suddenly looked determined. He took a few halfhearted swings and Marty blocked again. “C'mon George,” Marty egged him on, ““Hello, Mcfly! Think Mcfly.. think, I gotta have time to recopy...” A look resignation came over George. Marty was almost taken aback by it.
Suddenly like greased lightning George reached out and knocked Marty right on his ass before he could react! George looked mortified. Blood was gushing from Marty's nose. “I'm sorry!” George comes over. “Are you okay?” Marty sat there on the ground wiping his nose, looking real pleased. “George, I'm more than okay, buddy, that was GREAT!” He sprung to his feet. “That's what I'm talking about, George, you could be a great fighter!” “Ya, but I'm a lover not a fighter,” said George. Marty puts his arm on his shoulder. “Women dig both.” Marty said matter of factly. “Or at least one woman I know does. Lorraine!” George moved away toward the exit at this. “You're always trying to push her on me, why is that?” “Because, I guess I'm a hopeless romantic, George,” said Marty, “and I think you two kids belong together. I think you two have a real future together!” “Well, that's not really your decision is it?” Objected George as he turned and stomped out of the garage toward the house. “George, where ya going?” Marty called after him, then he followed, “we've got a lot of work to do.” “I'm going to watch my favorite show, Science Fiction Theater!” Said George. Then he turned around. “No one is in charge of my destiny, except me,” George pointed , “Not you, nor anyone else on this planet can decide my future.” George stormed off into the house. Marty stared after him, thinking. “No one on this planet?” He muttered. Then he smiled.
16. DARTH VADER OF THE PLANET TATOOINE
That night Marty Mcfly slunk through his father's neighborhood like a cat burglar carrying a stuffed backpack. He was desperate. He had tried for weeks to get his mother to fall back in love with his father neither of them were cooperating. Desperate times call for desperate measures, he'd heard once. It was just past midnight when he arrived, there. He went through the back yard. Several dogs were barking in the distance, but other than that nothing was stirring in this part of Hill Valley this late at night. Marty stopped at the back door, praying that his grandparents hadn't changed much over the years. There was a large white rock to the left of the back door. “Bingo,” Marty whispered to himself. He lifted the rock and there it was, the spare house key. “Thank God that old habits die hard in the Mcfly family.” He said to himself. He then set the backpack on the ground and began laying out the contents. First, his yellow radiation suit, then an electric hair dryer taken from 1985 Doc Brown's suitcase. A Walkman radio with headphones. Check. An Edward Van Halen Cassette. Check. He was
ready. George was sleeping soundly in his bed when Marty crept in and made his way to the foot of the bed, towering above in his yellow suit. He had wrapped his belt around his waist and tucked the hair dryer under it like a holster. He took out the Walkman. It was difficult to insert the Van Halen cassette in wearing the heavy radiation gloves but he finally managed it. Marty took the headphones, plugged them into the Walkman, went over to the side of the bed, and gently placed them over the ears of the sleeping George. Readying himself, he cranked the volume on the Walkman and then hit play. A thunderous noise of heavy drums and screeching distorted electric guitar woke George out of a sound sleep with a start. George bolted upright in the bed, backed himself against the headboard, disoriented and trying to focus on the yellow figure standing before him. Marty turned the tape off. George was still groggy but starting to look alert. “You again!” George shouted, pointing. Marty almost dropped the Walkman, this wasn't the reaction he expected. “Who the HELL are you?” George demanded, reaching up and grabbing at the headphones. Marty hit play again and the music didn't seem to startle George, it only appeared to make him more angry. Marty hit stop. “Silence EARTHLING,” Marty said, trying to keep up the facade. “I am Darth Vader of the Planet Tattooine!” George ripped the headphones off of his head and jumped out of bed. “The LAST time you said you were from the planet Vulcan!” He screamed, lunging at Marty. In doing so he knocked the walkman right from his hand. The two boys started wrestling. Marty began to regret giving George boxing lessons because the kid could hit hard. Marty was feeling his punches right through the protective helmet. George somehow got a good grip on the head covering and ripped it right off of Marty's head. George stepped backward gaping at him in shock and outrage. “YOU!” He wailed. “IT WAS YOU ALL ALONG!” Marty stammered, searching for words. “You're crazy,” George pointed an accusatory finger at Marty, “you're completely INSANE!” “George, please,” Marty pleaded, “let me explain.” “Just take that... thing,” George pointed at the walkman and the headphones, “whatever the hell that thing is, and get the HELL out of my house before I call the police!” Marty could hear his grandfather scrambling for the gun case down the hall. His grandmother was shouting something about the phone. Marty reached down, grabeds his walkman and jumped out the second story window, feet first. He landed and did a roll. His Walkman and the hair dryer went flying across the lawn. He stumbled up and scrambled to gather them up. Inside he could see the lights going on inside and hear his father explaining to his grandparents that he was just having another nightmare. “No more Science Fiction Theater for you!” Shouted Marty's grandmother as Marty scurried off and away from the house.
* * * * * * * * * * Back at the Brown Estate, Marty cames in, confused and upset, still wearing the suit, with the hood under his arm. Doc was waiting there in the workshop/garage. He was holding a magnifying glass staring at something. He looked up at Marty, quizzically. “Where have you been dressed like that?” He asked. “It's a long story Doc,” Marty replied abruptly, “needless to say, I think I really blew it this time with my Dad. I bet he never talks to me again.” “That's truly unfortunate Marty,” said Doc, handing him the magnifying glass and his family photo,” “because look!” Marty looked and his brother Dave was completely gone. “Holy shit!” Marty exclaimed. Doc nodded. “By my calculations, at the rate your siblings are disappearing in the photo you had exactly one month to the day from the moment you had the fist fight with Biff. That's the date of the boiling point.” “The date of the fire!” Marty added. “It's been almost three weeks now since the fight with Biff and you've made no progress at all getting your parents to interact in a meaningful way!” “I know, “ Marty shook his head, “you don't have to remind me. In fact, I think I might be making things worse.” Doc nodded again in agreement. “It appears to me, Marty, that your only chance now may be to see to it that the future unfolds exactly the way it did before.” “I told you, Doc, I don't have a clue about the fire,” Marty said, moving away and resting on the Delorean. “My parents would never talk about it in detail.” “You don't even know the location?” “No!” Doc shook his head, frustrated. “Well then, you may have to pick a place, start a fire yourself, and arrange for your father to be there.” “What Doc?” Marty was shocked at the suggestion. “I can't believe you're suggesting that! I can't do that! “Barring that,” Doc said, ignoring Marty's surprise, “the best you can do is keep up with your efforts.” “I told you Doc,” said Marty, “I seriously screwed up tonight, I doubt my Dad is going to ever talk to Calvin Klein again!” “Then you have to concentrate your efforts on your mother.” “My mom? Doc, are you crazy, my mom is all over me every time I turn around, I can't encourage her, you said so yourself!” “I didn't say encourage her,” Doc explained gravely, “you might have to discourage her.” Marty straightened at what Doc seemed to be suggesting. “Are you saying I need to be mean to my mother?”
“Not mean,” Doc suggested, “not necessarily mean, just, well, maybe not at first, but you have to show her that you're a complete loser and that compared to George you are a bad seed.” “Doc, I don't know if that's going to work, I'm starting to think that my mom goes for the bad boys.” Doc thinks this over. “It's Hollywood! They glorify rebels. The James Dean syndrome, I call it.” “Ya,” Marty agreed, “Doc she told me that James Dean is her favorite actor.” “Then you have to be less James Dean and more James Cagney. “ “Doc I don't even know who that is,” Marty lamented. “Marty,” Doc said ominously, “the way I see it you have about a week to get your mother to respect your father and forget about Calvin Klein, or your entire future is history!”
18. THE REVELATION The next day at school, Marty approached George boldly, but cautiously at his locker. George had gone back to wearing his old dull and boring outfits, instead of wearing the clothes Marty bought for him. “Hey, George,” Marty said. “Nice threads.” “Leave me ALONE psycho!” George snapped as he slammed his locker and stomped away. “I'm sorry, George, I got carried away,” Marty apologized, following his father down the hall, “it won't happen again.” “Stay AWAY from me and QUIT FOLLOWING ME AROUND!” George shouted without turning around, his back to Marty. Marty stopped and stared after, looking very much like a kid being rejected by his own father. Down the hall, another kid walked past George and with an evil grin slapped him on the back and said, “Hey Mcfly how's it goin?” Marty started to move forward, seeing the kid has just put a “kick me” sign on George's back, but before he could say or do anything, George Mcfly grabbed the sign off his back and pinned it to the kid's chest. “You leave me alone too, I'm sick of these juvenile pranks.” Marty stopped again, his eyes glowing with pride. It dawned on him that George was transforming himself. He was no longer the sniveling coward, the brunt of all the other kid's jokes. “Maybe there's hope for you yet George Mcfly,” Marty muttered. “Hello Marty.” He heard a sweet voice behind him. His head dropped and he turned around. It was, of course, Lorraine. His eyes narrowed. She was smiling up at him so sweetly. This was going to be difficult but it had to be done. He sighed, took a deep breath, then steeled himself. “Get lost,” he said to Lorraine and stomped away himself leaving her looking confused and crushed. For the next few days Marty continued to attempt to intervene on George's behalf, all the
while he was just as rude as he could be to Lorraine. Once, in the gymnasium, Marty made the team captain pick George for their team (who was just standing there with 3 other nerdy kids). George glared at Marty and then left the Gym floor, heading for the lockers. In the cafeteria, Biff once stomped over toward where George was sitting and Marty stepped in between them. Biff slunk away trying to act like he was just walking past anyway. One day after school, as Marty walked down the steps, Lorraine and a friend approach him. He glares at her, turned, and walked the other way. She stopped, looks puzzled, then, embarrassed she walked another direction. At the lockers one morning, Marty stepped up and tried to talk to George, he walked away. As he stared after him Lorraine and Babs walk by, she didn't even acknowledge his existence anymore. Marty sighed with relief, then looked at his family photo and ran his hands through his hair worriedly. Again the cafeteria, Marty tried to sit next to George for lunch. George picked up his tray and moved to another table. Marty dropped his head sadly. The time of the fire, the “boiling point” as Doc referred to it, was fast approaching and Marty was failing miserably. It was taking its toll on him. Early one morning Doc Brown came out of the front door of his mansion, followed by Marty. Doc was taking him to school. “Marty, you're going about this all wrong.” Said Doc. “Maybe you should just talk to Lorraine. Try to reason with her. Tell her that she's selling George short.” Marty looked skeptical. “Put your cards on the table,” said Doc as he unlocked the door to his car. Marty was not sold on this idea. “I don't know Doc, it sounds unlikely she'll listen.” “May I remind you,” said Doc, “that your family has almost vanished from that photograph, which means, the date of this supposed fire could be any time now. It could be today!” “I know,” said Marty, leaning on the car, emotionally exhausted. “I'm gong to go hang out at the Diner after school, maybe I'll talk to her about it then.” They get in the car. Not far away, Biff lurked in the shadows watching them get in the car and leave. He waited until the car was out of sight then he ran, half crouching, toward the garage. He tried the door and it was unlocked. He smiled evilly to himself and entered. Immediately he saw the canvas covered Delorean. He walked over to it and lifted up one end of the canvas. Biff marvels. “What have we here?” He asked himself. Then he frowned. “Hey, there's something familiar about this thing.” He let go of the canvas and waleds over to the now dismantled scale model of Hill Valley Square that Doc had built for the first Marty to demonstrate how he would send him back to the future. “What's this?” He stood there for a second holding the tiny model car, it still had the words written on it. He read it aloud. “Time machine?” He frowned.
“He looked over and saw the JVC camera.” Dropping the car. “What the HELL?” He walked over to it and picked it up. Looking it over. “Some kind of instant camera.” He muttered in amazement. He put it to his face and tried to look through the viewfinder. “Doesn't work! Some inventor you are Brown!” He notice a button marked “PLAY” and pressed it. Then he saw movement in the view finder. He looked into it again and saw a much older Doc Brown. “Old man is RIGHT!” He commented. He watched as Doc explained the time circuits and watched as Doc announced he was about to embark on an historic journey. Now his attention was fixed. He looked and found a button marked “rewind” and pressed it. After he heard it stop whining he put it to his face again and started watching. He watched the entire film. Glued to the view finder, Biff saw as Doc put Einstein in the Delorean. He watched Doc yell, “What did I tell you, eighty eight miles per hour.” He watched as Marty said, “you built a time machine out of a Delorean.” Biff put the camera down and stared at the tarp with an intently evil look on his face. “So... Doc Brown invented a time machine!” He smiled. “So that's where that old codger got that book! It came from the FUTURE!” He watched the movie until it got to the part where Marty asked Doc if it runs on gasoline and Doc talk about the plutonium. He watched as they refilled the chamber. Biff heard a noise, looked up, and realized someone was coming. He put the camera back on the work bench and ducked down just as Doc hurried into the garage. Doc stopped and notices a corner of the tarp on the Delorean was out of place. He stared at it hard, then he put it back where it belonged, looking around nervously. His spidey senses were on high alert. Something was not right. He slowly moved toward the work bench where Biff was now hiding. Biff scooted around to the other side avoiding being seen. Doc walked up to the camera and stared at it. His eyes shift back and forth, suspicious. He picked up the camera and carried it with him across the garage and into the main house. Biff quietly and snuck back out of the garage.
* * * * * * * * * * Marty like Lou's Diner as it was in 1955. It always made him sad that it had been converted into an aerobics studio in his time. He loved the atmosphere, the old juke box, the food. They didn't have anything like this place in his time and in the month he'd spent in 1955 he was truly wondering why not. He'd seen pictures of old diners like this one before. They were always the same. Long and narrow, a bar, padded stools, linoleum floors, tiny booths along the window side. A juke box at one end. Behind the bar soda and coffee machines. And the shakes at Lou's Diner were to die for. Marty thought if he had to stay here, he was going to end up fat.
He now sat at the end of the bar trying to figure out how to talk to Lorraine, who was also sitting at the bar, all the way down at the other end. Seemingly ignoring him now. He bave her several glances, but she did not return them. George Mcfly was walking past the Diner and Marty saw him through the glass. Then, he also saw Biff and his henchmen following George. Marty jumped up immediately and ran out of the Diner. “Mcfly!” Biff shouted after George, who turned, looked back, and then keeps walking. “Hey, Mcfly, I'm talking to you, you Irish worm,” Biff hollered after him, “you been ducking me for weeks and I'm sick of it!” George kept walking and Biff and his gang started to trot after him. Suddenly Bif is struck full force from behind and he stumbled, almost falling. Fuming, he turned and saw Marty standing there. George, hearing the commotion behind him, stopped too, looked behind him. He was not happy to see Marty. Once again, Marty squared off with Biff. “Look, ass hole,” Marty said, “are you deaf or just stupid? I told you to lay off George!” Biff actually seemed a little nervous. To be fair, so did Marty. He looked around at the henchmen and realized he was outnumbered and there were no bystanders this time to keep things fair. One of the henchmen stepped up this time. “Listen, fruit cake, you can't take all four of us.” “Are you sure about that?” Asked Marty, putting on his best brave face. The henchman moved closer, followed by the other two, and Biff. “I'm positive, four against one, butthole, that's not good odds for you.” Goldie and three of his friends had stepped out of the diner and when they overheard this, they stepped forward to Marty's side. “It will be four against five!” Biff and his thugs backed off, looking somewhat upset. “Hey, what's it to you anyway?” Biff whined. “This is between me and Mcfly!” He turned back around and George, to his surprise, had not run off, but had came back and was standing directly behind him. “I want a rematch, Mcfly.” Marty started to roll up his sleeves. “You got it,” he said! Biff turned and looked at him like he was crazy. “I was talking to McFly, moron!” The he turned back to George. “You sucker punched me at that dance and I deserve a chance to set the record straight! What'you say? Me and you, at the ball park, tonight what was that term?” He looked at his henchman. “Monny Monny?” The henchman kind of whispers, “it's Mono E Mono.” “Mono E Mono,” Biff said as if he knew it all along. George looked at Biff as if he was actually considering the challenge. Marty noticed that Lorraine was now out there on the sidewalk, looking at George again, for the first time in weeks perhaps. He ran past Biff and the henchmen straight to George.
George ignored Marty for now. He looked up from staring at the pavement thoughtfully. “No Biff,” he said, “I'm not going to fight you!” Biff sneered and there was actual disappointed muttering from the crowd that was gathering. “George!” Marty whispered, “you have to stand up for yourself.” “I didn't think you would!” Biff says loudly. “You're nothing but a big, skinny, mealy mouthed chicken!” Marty leaned in toward George. “George, Lorraine is watching, you can't let him get away with calling you chicken.” George's face went beet red but his anger was not turned toward Biff. “You just shut up, you!” He screamed at Marty in absolute rage. “I'm sick of you following me around, telling me what to do, sticking your nose into where it doesn't belong, SNEAKING INTO MY BEDROOM!” There was a hissing from the crowd. Marty looked around embarrassed. “That sounds really bad!” Marty explained to everyone, “it was a prank.” He said. “He's talking about a prank I played.” Then he pulled George by the arm backward a few paces. Before he could say anything, however, George laid into him again. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone? You keep wanting me to fight and you call that standing up for yourself, but it takes a bigger man to walk away from a fight!” Marty looked at Lorraine and she appeared conflicted. “In fact,” continued George, “I'd rather fight YOU than Biff.” He shoved hard and Marty fell back flat on his ass. The crowd murmured. George turned around and stomped off. Biff was gloating at Marty and he started to laugh. Then he shouted past Marty, toward the rapidly departing Mcfly, “this ain't over yet Mcfly! I owe you a knuckle sandwich.” “Stuff it!” George told Biff without even turning around. Goldie and his group started to walk toward Biff and his henchmen menacingly. “Us spooks owe you peckerwoods a knuckle sandwich,” said Marvin Berry, one of Goldie's friends, “don't think we don't remember you from the other night at the dance!” Biff and his henchmen took off, trying to appear casual. “That sonofabitch Klein” Biff sputtered, “I'm sick of his interference, and he took something from me that I am going to get back.” “What was it again, Biff” asked one of the henchmen as they walked toward Biff's car. “It was a family heirloom!” Biff glared at him. “Never mind what it was, it's none of your business, you just be ready because I have a plan to get it back.” They jumped in the convertible. Back on the sidewalk, in front of the Diner several people had helped a shocked Marty get up and he was brushing himself off. Lorraine approached him and when he saw her he rolled his eyes and hung his head in complete frustration.
“Marty,” said Lorraine, “are you alright? I can't believe what George just said to you.” Marty glared at her in anger. “Lorraine, has it ever occurred to you that George Mcfly might be too good for YOU?” She looked at him in utter shock. “Lorraine,” Marty said, “when are you going to realize that life isn't a Hollywood movie? I'm not James Dean just because I lose my temper and end up settling things with my fists. George is right! It does take a bigger man to walk away from a fight, especially when you know everyone will look at you as a coward. George is TEN TIMES the man I will ever be. If you can't see that, then, he's too good for you!” Lorraine's eyes welled up with tears. “Calvin Klein!” She wailed. “You're a MONSTER!” She turned and ran off. Babs stepped up to Marty, glared at him and kicked him in the shin. He bent over, grabbing his leg. “OWE!” She stomped away. Marty pulled out his family photo and looked. All that was left of his sister is her feet. “Ya, well monsters have a way of disappearing on their own sometimes.” He muttered to himsefl. Just then Doc Brown pulled up behind Marty in his car. Marty looked over as he jumped out and rushed up to him. “Marty,” Doc said sounding a bit upset, “we have a problem.” “Doc, can't this wait I'm trying to work on this problem with Lorraine.” “We need to talk, Marty,” Doc leaned in and whispered, “someone was in my garage, I think they saw the time machine and looked at your camera!” Marty's eyes narrowed. “That's not good Doc!” “Indeed!” Doc agreed. “We have got to secure the Delorean and everything else related to time travel, my garage is compromised.” “But Doc,” objected Marty, “don't you remember, this is the night of the fire, I have to find George and stick with him like glue, we agreed!” Doc ushered Marty toward the car against his objections, looking around as if they might be followed. “Marty, if the time machine were to fall into the wrong hands, the consequences for the entire universe could be disastrous!” “Okay, Doc,” Marty agreed, opening the passenger door, “but let's hurry so I can find George, I want to be there in case he comes across a fire and decides to run the other way.” “He would do that?” Doc seemed shocked. “I don't know what he'd do,” Marty said in complete frustration, as he sat in Doc's car and closed the door. Doc started the car. “He's my father,” Marty continued, “but I barely know him.” “I can relate, said Doc, “my father was like an alien from another planet to me.” Marty nodded. “Exactly. Like Darth Vader from Vulcan.” Doc gave him an odd look. “Never mind,” said Marty, “inside joke.”
Doc shrugged and they pulled away.
19. REVENGE OF THE BIFF It was a pleasant and beautiful late afternoon. An early winter chill was lurking, just below the senses. The front door to the Mcfly residence opened. George emerged from the house, stopped, looking around. He breathed in the fresh air and shouted inward into the house. “I'm off to the Library Mom.” The faded voice of his mother called out from within the house somewhere. “Don't be late for dinner.” George shouldered a small book bag and headed for his bicycle. He rode away on the sidewalk, which was an extremely rebel move for George. He knew riding on the sidewalk was illegal and he didn't care. What was happening to him, he wondered? He was moving along at a decent pace. Suddenly, in front of him loomed Biff's convertible. It cut him off and he slammed on his brakes. Biff jumped out. “Okay, Mcfly,” he said, “where's your body guard, Klein?” “I don't need Klein to fight my battles for me,” George snapped. The two young men stare hard at each other. “Excuse me,” George politely said as he attempted to pedal around Biff. The Henchmen jumped out hooting and hollering at him. They all grabbed him and yanked him right off his bike. George putsup a struggle but it was 4 against one. Biff looked around, nervously, holding his hand over George's mouth. “Not here, I have plans, tie him up and stow him.” As George continued to struggle the three henchmen quickly wrapped rope around his hands and tightened. “What are you doing?” George yelled. “What do you want with me?” They shoved a rag in his mouth, picked him up, and tossed him unceremoniously into the trunk of the Ford like a sack of garbage. They jumped in, Biff in the driver's seat. “What now?” Asked his right hand man. “Now, we have a meeting, with Klein.” Biff reached over to his glove box and pulled out a pistol. It's a small 38 special. In another lifetime, another universe, a much older Biff might use this same gun to try and shoot a time travelling Marty Mcfly on the roof of “Biff's Pleasure Palace.” The henchmen, all three, went a bit white when they saw the gun Fun and games is one thing, but they didn't look too enthused about being a part of anything involving a gun. It was now obvious to them that Biff was off balance and they were getting in too deep. Biff stuffed the pistol between his legs and did a quick you turn, and sped off. No on in the car but he knew the ultimate destination or purpose.
* * * * * * * * * * Doc and Marty were rushing, scrambling to secure the Delorean after Doc had discovered someone had been in his garage. The tow truck pulled up to the garage, then turned and backed up to the Delorean. “We must get the time machine to a more secure location until this is over,” Doc was explaining. “The time machine and everything you brought with you, especially that camera and the plutonium!” Doc gasped. “Great Scott, I shutter to think what would happen if that fell into the wrong hands!” “Doc, are you sure that storage barn is going to be a safer place for the Delorean?” “Affirmative, no one knows about it,” replied Doc, “at least it's highly unlikely the person who was snooping around in my workshop earlier knows about it. I will feel a lot better once it's not in my garage anymore.” Marty got out of the truck, went to the back, and martialed Doc with hand signals back to where he could hook up to the Delorean. He started working on the cables. Doc threw it in park and jumped out, joining Marty as he continued talking. “I can't believe I didn't secure it sooner. I already have all the plans and drawings for the flux capacitor as well as your,” he stopped, and shook his head, “the other Marty's letter and my memoirs in a safe deposit box.” Doc looked around the perimeter. “Are you sure you checked behind every bush and tree?” He asked Marty. “Ya, Doc,” Marty assured him. “There's no one out there watching. Or at least there wasn't before. That made Doc look around even more intently. “Relax Doc,” Marty said, we'll just make sure no one follows us to the barn.” Marty's watch beeped and he looked at it. Doc frowned. “Marty, I thought I told you not to wear that 1985 time piece, it's going to cause suspicion.” “Suspicion of what?” Marty scoffed. “Suspicion that I'm a time traveler? Who's going to suspect that?” “You never know,” Doc said moving toward the house, “maybe the person who was in my garage today.” “Good point,” Marty admitted begrudgingly. “Listen Doc, I'm really sorry but can you handle all the rest of this on your own?” Doc scoffed and slapped his hands as if to say, “it figures.” “I gotta go find my Dad, can I borrow your car?” Doc does not like it, but he tossed him the keys anyway. “Good luck, I guess,” he said. “Hey, listen Doc, if I fail I might be gone by tomorrow.” Doc stopped and slowly turned around, sadly. “Don't worry about it, Marty, chances are everything is going to work out fine!” Doc lied. He knew the chances were more probable at this point Marty was going to vanish before too long.
“I hope so,” Marty said, “but in case not, it was great knowing you!” Doc smiled, “likewise.” He came back over to Marty and they hugged warmly. Doc backed up and slapped him on both shoulders. “Now go get him!” Marty quickly jumped in Doc's car and sped away.
* * * * * * * * * * It was dusk when Marty pulled Doc Brown's car up into the driveway of the home of his father, the home of his grandparents. He got out and ran with abandon to the front door and banged on it, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. A person opened the door but Marty couldn't see them through the outer screen. Just a silhouette. The person sounded very irritated. “What do you want?” Marty was taken aback by the gruff sound of his own grandfather. “Um,” he stammered, “can I speak to George? “He's not here, he went to the Library,” the mysterious silhouette said, then slammed the front door closed. Marty ran back to the car, muttering, “I just spoke to my dead grandfather. He didn't even recognize me! Time travel really messes with your head.' He jumped back into the car and started it. “The library! I could have guessed that!” He stopped and thought about it. “I wonder if the library burns down tonight?” With a new sense of urgency he put the car in reverse and almost burned rubber getting out of the driveway. Marty pulled up n front of the Hill Valley public library moments later, jumped out and ran in. A spinster looking librarian with a bun in her hair and a sour look glared at him as he entered. “We're closing in five minutes!” “I won't be longer than two,” he said. He looked everywhere, starting in the science fiction section. Nothing. He looked in the rest room. There was no one in the library but the old woman. No George. He looked again all over the entire library. In complete disappointment he approached the librarian again. “Can I help you with something young man? It doesn't appear you're looking for books today.” Marty was surprised, she actually sounded sweet and nice. “I'm looking for my fa...” he stopped himself, “my friend George.” “George Mcfly?” Asked the Librarian. “Ya, him!” “HE is no longer here.” She said dryly. “I can see that,” replied Marty, “but was he here?” “I don't really know you, so I'm not sure if I should say.”
“Please say,” he begged her, “it could be a matter of life and death.” Hesitantly she answered him. “No, I haven't seen him all day.” Marty turned around, leaning on the librarians desk, looking trapped. This was not like George to say he was at the library but not to be at the library. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” Asked the librarian, looking up at the clock. “No, thanks anyway,” said Marty, “I don't think anyone can help men now.” He ran for the exit. After he was gone, the librarian got up, quietly closed and locked the door behind him. “Putz,” she said. Then she sat down at her desk, opened a drawer, pulled out a bottle of scotch, tore it open, and took a deep swig. “It's the only way I can put up with these little shits,” she said to herself, wiping her mouth. Marty jumped back in Doc's car and sat there at a loss. “Now what?” He asks himself. He looked at his watch, then pulled out his wallet and looked at the family photo. There was nothing left of his sister. It was just he, alone standing in front of the well. “C'mon George, where can you be?” Biff's car pulled up to the end of Doc Brown's driveway slowly, headlights off. The top up. He turned off the engine and coasted to a stop a few hundred yards away. The garage door was open and a tow truck was backed up to the Delorean. “Dammit,” they're trying to move it!” Doc Brown was pacing. “I know I'm forgetting something,” he moaned. I just know it. He looked at his wrist watch. “Damn!” He exclaimed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch. “DAMN!” The wing door was open and inside, on the passenger seat sat the camera and the radiation suit. Doc went to the trunk, which was also open and peered in at his 1985 older counterpart's suitcase, then laughed at his stupidity. “What was I thinking? I'm an idiot.” He then went to a special storage locker at the other end of the garage, stumbling for his keys. Stenciled on the door of the locker were the words “HAZARDOUS MATERIALS. He opened it, reached in, and gingerly pulled the plutonium case out. Carried it carefully to the trunk and gently set it in. Then closed the trunk places the case in the trunk. Biff and his three henchmen slunk toward the garage, bent down, moving cautiously. Doc looked around him after closing the trunk. His spidey senses were tingling. “I think that's all of it,” he muttered in satisfaction. Suddenly he hearf a sound out there in the dark on the other side of the tow truck. Biff slapped one of his henchmen in the head. He had accidentally bumped into the front of the tow truck. They ducked down, by the front grill. Doc Brown warily poked out from behind the tow truck inside the garage. He didn't see them. But, still sensing something was up he went to a corner and grabbed an old golf club. Holding it high he moved around the passenger side of the tow vehicle. “I have a gun!” He warned whoever was out there, “and I know how to use it!” As he slowly approached the front of the tow truck, Biff appeared in front of him, pointing
his pistol. “So do I,” said Biff, “and mine shoots real bullets!” Doc stopped in his tracks and dropped his golf club, throwing his hands up in the air.
* * * * * * * * * * The town was slowing down, getting ready to call it a night. Marty slowly rolled past Lou's Diner and looked in. No one could bee seen in there except Goldie, sadly sweeping the floor, mumbling something about, “Mayor Wilson.” “Dammit George!” Marty grumbled. “Where the hell did you go?
20. PLAY WITH PLUTONIUM YOU'RE GONNA GET BURNED! Doc backed up, hands in the air and Biff herded him past the Delorean. The henchmen skulked behind Biff taking in the sight of the uncovered time machine with amazement. “Going on a little trip?” Biff asked? “I have to get this back to the movie studio,” Doc said, “I don't get paid if I don't deliver this prop to them by tonight.” “Wow, cool, movie props,” said one of the henchmen. All three moved closer to the Delorean staring in awe. Biff looked at them like they were idiots. “Prop?” Biff scoffed at him. “This is no prop old man, I KNOW what this is! I've seen the film on that newfangled camera of yours.” “Camera?” Doc played innocent. “OH! You mean the rehearsal tape?” Biff started to look a little less sure of himself. “Rehearsal?” He repeated. Doc kept backing up with his hands in the air. “That was a special new movie camera, all the studios have them. They let me keep it because it has footage from the dry run of the movie this machine was made for. It's about a time traveling space ship from Venus.” Biff pointed his gun at Doc in a menacing manner. “Cut the crap old man, you must think I'm an idiot, but I know what is going on, you see I got it all figured out!” Doc shook his head. “I don't know what you think, Biff, but I can assure you.” “Shut up!” Biff yelled.
* * * * * * * * * *
Marty reluctantly pulled up to Lorraine's house and parked. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for an encounter with yet another pair of grandparents. He got out and approached the front door. He knew it was a long shot. “George, please be in here,” he
* * * * * * * * * *
“Where's Klein?” Biff demanded. “He's not here,” replied Doc, “he's out on a date.” Thinking about it, and looking around to see Doc's car was gone, Biff relaxed. “Well, we can wait,” he said, “meanwhile, you can go get my BOOK!” Doc feigned confusion. “Don't play stupid old man, the book from the future you and that little runt stole from me!” Doc's eyes popped open as if he thought Biff had lost his mind. Biff's henchmen stopped their gawking at the time machine to stare at Biff. One of them mouthed the words “time machine” to the other who raised his eyebrows in concern. “Book from the future?” Doc repeated as if humoring him. One of his henchmen was touching the fusion generator fuel port. Doc noticed it. “Excuse me son,” Doc said to the lad, “but you shouldn't fool with that, it is not quite stable yet.” Biff glared at him evilly. “Not stable? I thought you said this is just a movie prop?” “It is,” Doc tried to cover for the mistake, “but it has highly specialized pyrotechnics built in. If you mess with the wrong thing we could all go up like a roman candle.” Biff looked back at his henchmen. “Why don't you go make yourself useful and get that Irish bug from the trunk?” The turned and started to run back to Biff's car. “And hide the car will you, if that Klein kid shows up I don't want him to have a heads up!” The henchmen knew better than to dally when Biff gave them an order, they turned and dashed back down Doc Brown's driveway to Biff's car. Biff motioned with his gun for Doc to back up toward the work bench. “Now you listen, old man, I know you and that snot nose little weasal are messing with time travel. I also know that I end up with this time machine sometime in the future, when I am an old man. I know, because I met myself, my older self. He came and gave me a Gray's Sports Almanac that had the sports scores for every game until the end of the century!” Doc backed up, continuing to stare wildly at Biff like he was completely insane. “Don't try to deny it! I'm not as dumb as I look.” Biff stopped, thinking that over, “as you might THINK I look.” He revised. “I never said you look dumb,” Doc tried to placate him. “Stow it!” Biff thrust the gun his way again. “Now, either give me that book or I'll tear this place apart looking for it. Then, if I don't find it, it won't matter because I have a time machine here, I'll just go to the future and get another one!” Doc shook his head. “This is no time machine it's a cheap Hollywood prop.” “Bull shit!” Biff yelled. “I saw it fly, the night you and that punk took the book from me. I
know what it can do! I know it's a real time machine and now, it's mine! I know how to use it too because I watched the movie on that camera box thingy. I saw you explain it. Not you, though, an older you! I also know that Calvin Klein is really Marty MCFLY, the future kid of George Mcfly! Doc looked at him with pity and raised eyebrows. That's when the the henchmen returned, dragging poor George along. Biff motioned to the far left wall. “Put him over there,” he said, “and that one too.” One of the henchmen shoved George over to the wall and pushed him down. Another one grabbed Doc and led him over there too. Biff's eyes narrowed. “Tie him up first!” He said to the one leading Doc. The henchman stopped and looks at Biff nervously. “But we used all the rope on Mcfly!” “Then find something in here!” He barked.
* * * * * * * * * * Marty closed his eyes as the Baines' front door slammed in his face. “I told you, the kid is an idiot...” he heard Lorraine's father's muffled voice from somewhere inside the house. He turned around and slowly made his way back to Doc's car, looking dowcast and out of ideas. He stopped and in the light of the street lamp he took out the family photo and stared at it. There was no change. He couldn't say if that was good or bad. He wondered if his body parts started disappearing in the photo, would they disappear in real life? He hoped not! He threw his hands down to his sides, exasperated. “George!” You're literally KILLING me!” He climbed back in the car, sat there for a few more minutes, a look of desperation on his face. Then he started and pulled out. He drove around aimlessly for a while just hoping to see George, somewhere, anywhere. He stopped again, on the side of the road, put the car in park and sat there, helplessly. He wiped his forehead. He was dripping in sweat, despite how cool it was. “I don't feel good,” he realized. “I think I'm coming down with a cold or something.” Then, fear gripped him. He quickly takes out the picture. Still no body parts erasing. “Ya!” He said. “I think it's starting. I'm next! I need Doc's help with this,” he decided. He threw the car into gear and turned it around, pointing toward the Brown Mansion. As he drove memories started to flood his mind. First, memories of Jennifer, her beautiful smile haunting him. Then he had memories of his mom and dad, Dave and Linda. Their family vacation. Their dinners every night. The endless conversations. “Oh no,” he thought, “my life is flashing before my eyes.” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, it was drenched. He put the pedal down harder. An inexplicable memory popped into his head, from several years back when he first started working for the Doc, cleaning up his workshop. It was a conversation between George and Lorraine. They were unaware that he had overheard it.
“You know I don't want him hanging around with the crazy old man, George,” his mom was saying adamantly. “He gives me the hebee gebees.” “I know,” George said, “but he really is harmless.” “Harmless?” Lorraine repeated, incensed. “One of his crazy experiments nearly killed you, George, you were lucky to get out of that fire alive, much less saving everyone else that was in there.” “Now, Lorraine, you're exaggerating, it wasn't an experiment it was just a regular house fire.” “You KNOW that's not true, you suffered serious memory loss from whatever that mad scientist was cooking up in his laboratories! We were lucky your exposure was minimal, remember what the doctor said. Poor Biff, what about him? He's never been right in the head since!” “I still think Biff was the cause of that fire, Lorraine! I could never prove it but you remember what he was like?” “Well, still,” Lorraine said, “I just don't think it's healthy the way Marty follows that crazy inventor around hanging on his every word!” Marty shook his head in total surprise at this sudden childhood memory that he had somehow suppressed! “OMG, the FIRE!” Now he could remember the news articles in Doc Brown's workshop about how the Brown Estate property had been sold in 1962. When it was sold they did an historical article about how the original mansion had burned down years earlier, in a mysterious “laboratory” accident. In his memory he could see the date reported in the article. December 12, 1955.” “December twelve 1955! I'm such an IDIOT!” He put the pedal to the floor. “Hang on Doc, I'm on my way!
* * * * * * * * * * Doc was now tied up with some electrical chord and gagged, he and George, together. Biff had the camera out of the Delorean and he was watching the film again, paying close attention to each component's operation as it was demonstrated. Rewinding here and there. During the short section of the film which showed Doc from 1985 in full radiation suit, fueling the fusion reactor, Biff sat down the camera and stomped over to Doc. He pulled the gag down off Doc's mouth. “Where is this pink stuff? This plutonite or whatever?” Biff demanded. “I told you, it's just a movie.” Doc said. Biff took the pistol and waved it in Doc's face. “If you don't start talking you're going to have an extra blow hole.” “Go ahead,” Doc said with a complete look of defiance. “I'd rather be dead than help you.” Biff grinned menacingly. “Okay, have it your way.” He pointed the barrel at Doc. Doc turned away, squinting and braced himself. Then, Biff got an idea.
He moved to George now. “I bet you care about worm, here, Mr. Bigshot's old man.” He put the gun to George's temple. George's eyes were as big as saucers. The henchmen, who were supposed to be looking out for Marty's arrival, were now all three watching Biff, looking almost as scared as George. “You just don't LISTEN, butthole!” Marty stepped out from behind the tow truck. “I told you to leave George Mcfly alone.” Marty was holding the hair dryer from Doc's suitcase, the one he once used to try and convince George he was a space alien. He walded forward pointing it at them. The three henchmen back away from him with their hands up. “What the HELL is that supposed to be?” Biff asked, pointing his pistol at Marty now. I'm a time traveler,” Marty informed him, “and this is a high intensity phaser pistol from the future. I can disintegrate your entire body with one shot.” Marty stepped closer. The henchmen were now laughing at Marty's claim of time travel until they saw Biff's reaction. Biff looked at the strange “weapon” and hesitated. When Marty came closer, he actually backed away. Which wiped the smiles right from the faces of his 3 friends. “Now drop your primitive pistol before I vaporize you.” Marty said boldly. Biff thought it over for a moment, “okay,” he said. He looked like he was going to put his gun down but then, with an almost sly look, he lifted the gun again. “But first, shoot something.” “What?” “I said, show me, buttwipe. I want to see this ray gun in action.” Marty's eyes dropped. You see, punk, I play poker and I'm real good at it.” Explained Biff. “I say you're bluffing and that's not even a gun. Show me! I call. Vaporize....” he looks around for something, “....that ladder.” He pointed at the ladder in the back of the garage. “I'm not vaporizing a perfectly good ladder?” Marty replied lamely. Biff pointed his pistol menacingly at George again. “Do it punk,” Biff said, “or I'll blow your DAD'S head off.” Biff's 3 companions' mouths gaped open stupidly when Biff called George Marty's father. Marty looked at George who's eyes were once again wide. This tie full of understanding George remembered that “laser” gun from before and he's betting in his own mind that it was no more a laser gun that Marty was Darth Vader from the planet whatever. A look of defeat came over Marty. He dropped the “laser gun,” the way he had seen Doc drop his pistol for the Libyans. It clattered to the floor and literally broke in half. Biff started laughing. “Okay, Biff,” he said, “you got me.” He put up his hands. “I was bluffing.”
* * * * * * * * * * Marty had donned the radiation suit the whole time Biff was holding the gun on George. He now stood, fully covered, labored breathing, as if waiting for further instructions. “Don't just do it,” Biff said, “walk me through it so I know how to do it next time.” He looked at his henchmen like they were idiots. (Which they technically were, but no more so than Biff). “Don't just stand there, unhook that damned thing.” He barked, pointing at the tow cable connected to the Delorean. “You have to wear this radiation suit every time you fuel the fusion generator.” Marty's muffled voice came through the radiation helmet, but stalling for what purpose he didn't know. “This stuff is highly radioactive.” “No shit sherbert! Biff said, “I got that part.” Then, thinking it over a bit he backtracked, “What kind of radiation?” Marty looked over at Doc who was struggling to speak with the gag on him. “That's his department,” said Marty flatly. No one noticed George Mcfly anymore, who was just ever so slightly squirming where he sat with his hands tied behind his back. Doc's restraints were still holding good, but all this time George had been working on his restraints, which hadn't been tied that well to begin with. He was just about free. Biff moves over to Doc, warily, keeping one eye on Marty and the gun pointed at George. He reached and pulled down the gag from Doc's mouth. “I'm not helping you,” said Doc defiantly. Biff's eyebrows grew together, then he jabbed the pistol in George's direction. “Please Doc,” Marty pleaded. Dock rolled his eyes and sighed. “It emits a large amount of thermal energy” Doc said matter of factly, as if lecturing a class, “with low levels of both gamma rays and spontaneous neutron rays... it's also an alpha emitter.” “And that suit will protect me from that?” Biff asked skeptically. “It looks like it's made out of paper.” Doc shook his head, “it's not paper, but if it were it would be enough. This type of isotope combines high energy radiation with low penetration.” Biff's blank stare told Doc everything. “Marty,” said Doc with resolve, “we cannot let this technology fall into the hands of this neanderthal! Biff back handed Doc. Surprisingly, it didn't even phase him. “Doc,” pleaded Marty again, “we have no choice.” Biff went closer to George, who, no one noticed had been squirming and now had stopped. Doc sighed in frustration again. “It requires minimal shielding,” he said abruptly. Biff still looked confused. “A sheet of paper can be used to shield against the alpha particles,” Doc simplified it.
“Oh, why didn't you just say that,” Biff demanded angrily. Doc glared at him then continued. “Without shielding, however, and without the proper container, you're looking at major radiation damage to your cells and even chemical burn. One kilogram of the isotope can generate about 570 watts of heat!” “Okay, so it's safe as long as it's in the container and I'm wearing the suit?” “Well, yes,” replied Doc, 'but should you drop or break its glass container or get it directly on your skin you will suffer immediate radiation burns. Even if you just breath in the fumes of it you can suffer permanent brain damage!” Biff was looking at Marty. “Quit stalling, get going, Doc here can fill me in on the rest as I watch you.” Marty moved to the trunk, opening the plutonium case. With the henchmen hovering over him, like little kids. “If you ever expose it to air,” Doc was still saying, “and it oxidizes, it can become a powerful type of fuel. The resulting fire and explosion can burn through 2 feet of stainless steel.” “So... you could use it to get into a safe or even a bank vault?” Biff said. “Interesting.” “I wouldn't try that if I were you,” Doc warned him, you might get in but you won't be around very long to spend whatever you got out of it!” “Oh, because of the radiation?” Doc looked at him like the dullard he is, raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Well, I'll just have to make sure I'm wearing that suit when I do it,” Biff figured that all out on his own. Doc just rolled his eyes. Marty had taken out a vial of plutonium with the special forceps and was moving to place it in the fusion chamber. Suddenly he stopped and keeled over in pain. Biff jumped up in anger. “Hey, butthole, quit fooling around!” Marty groaned loudly seeming to barely be able to hold on to the plutonium. “Quit trying to scare me!” Biff shouted, pointing the gun at George who's eyes were narrowing angrily. Marty tried to get up again, but collapsed onto one knee, the plutonium nearly slipping out of the tool in his hand this time. At first Doc thought Marty was pulling some kind of ruse, but now he began to realize what was happening. He could see a finger on Marty's hand flickering, as if facing in and out of existence. “He's not faking!” Doc shouted, there must be something wrong with the radiation suit! Or the container hold the plutonium might be unstable. Biff seemed unsure. He looked from Marty to Doc, then back. He didn't know what to believe. Marty groaned again and this time dropped to both his knees, bent over in agony. The hand holding the vial began to shake. “Well HURRY UP THEN!” Biff shouts at Marty.
“Someone has to get the vial from him before he drops it!” Doc screamed now, and it was for certain from his tone that this was for real. “What, with my bare hands?” Biff asked. “Well, I'd do it myself by mine are TIED!” Doc screamed. They all looked at Marty in dismay, who is coughing now and not able to get up from a kneeling position. Suddenly, his hand holding the vial to shimmer, then went transparent. Everyone's eyes bulged at this. George's eyes were squint in total empathy for Marty. The vial, as if in slow motion, now freed from the forceps, dropped to the floor and shattered with a sickening ring! Doc's draw dropped open and he half screamed and half gasped. “Great SCOTT!” Biff had been kneeling next to Marty, wrapping a rag around his hand in preparation to grab the forceps from Marty. Now he jumped to his feet in horror. Marty fell backwards, his entire arm disintegrating. “HOLY SHIT BIFF!” One of the henchmen screamed. “Look at his arm. It's disappearing!” The plutonium instantly crystallized on the cement next to Marty, into a grayish metal that begin jumping around like a jumping bean and arcing in all directions. It gave off a greenish smoke that filled the room almost instantly. After one whiff of that smoke, Biff and his henchmen dropped to the floor instantly unconscious. Doc too succumbed and was out. Marty rolled around on the floor in agony, safe from the smoke because of the radiation suit. George, who had freed himself from his restraints quite a while back, reached up and tore the gag from his mouth. Then, thought better of it and used it to cover both his mouth and his nose. It was a brilliant move on his part, keeping him from breathing in too much of the fumes. The metal jumping bean flashed into a bright flame that literally caught the cement floor of the garage on fire, barely missing Marty. His arm was completely gone and his agony was crippling. Everyone was now helpless or unconscious except George Mcfly. He sprang immediately into action, untying his feet and jumping to his feet. The gag was still tightly wrapped around his mouth and nose. George grabbed Marty to drag him from the garage. “No, no!” Marty protested through the helmet, “Doc, help Doc!” George hesitated, then ran over and grabbed Doc, dragging him from the garage out into the lawn, away from the fumes. He then ran back in and started to grab Marty again. “No, No!” Marty was trying to drag himself out of the garage with one arm, unable to stand. “Get the others first.” Said Marty. Again, George hesitated, then he began to drag the others from the garage, laying them down next to the Doc. He saved Biff for last. By this time Marty had managed to drag himself past the tow truck.
The plutonium, burning brightly with a white flame, turned into a grapefruit sized fire brand and bounced under the Delorean, then somehow caught the undercarriage on fire. A thick, and no doubt highly toxic black smoke began to pour out from under it. Marty was now slipping into unconsciousness next to the front of the tow truck tire. George ran to him and looked. Both arms were now gone! George couldn't believe his eyes. He grabbed Marty by his shoulders, where his arms should be, reluctantly, and then dragged him to safety next to the others. The black smoke had filled the garage and in the middle of it all white lightning bolts shot out. It looked like a terrible storm in the middle of Doc Brown's garage. George looked at Marty again and to his shock the kid's left leg was gone as well! Panicking he looked at his own arms and legs, to make sure they weren't disappearing. Marty's head popped up and he looked down in horror at his now vanished, then looked at his arms. “But the fire!” Marty screamed through his helmet! “I don't understand, it's the fire, I thought that was supposed to fix it all!” Then he realized what was wrong. He rolled over to George. The fire had now lit up the night sky and Marty heard the distant approach of fire trucks. He finally made it to George's side and found him unconscious. He began tapping his father in the face with his helmet. “Wake up dad!” He screaeds! “Wake up dammit!” George's eyes fluttered. He awakened and looked at Marty. “Who are you?” Asked George, completely disoriented. “It's me, Marty,” he replied through the helmet. “Who?” George was totally out of it. “Never mind,” said Marty, “I need you to listen. You're a hero George!” “I am?” He asked in confusion, then he noticed the flames and the lightning bolts and the cloud of thick smoke and crawled backwards in terror. “Yes, yes!” Marty screamed. “It's YOU, you saved all these people!” He waves at the bodies laying there! Then, realized his arms were back! He laughed for joy! “I did?” George asked in amazement! “Yes, you did!” Marty looked down and saw that he had two legs now. He jumped up, grabbed George by the shoulders and shook him! “You, George Mcfly are like some kind of SUPERHERO or something, I never saw anything like it.” George looked at Marty and asked, “are you okay? What are you wearing?” Marty ripped his helmet off. “It's me, Marty!” George was surprised and half smiled. “From the dance, right? “You're going to be okay! George!” Marty shouted with joy! “You did it!” “I did?” George asked. Marty looked down the driveway the fire trucks had rounded the corner and were racing
up. Followed closely by ambulances and police cars. George was still completely disoriented but he stood as the first fireman ran up. “You boys okay?” He asks. Two other firemen ran to the lifeless bodies of Doc and the others. Marty stood with George and nodded. “YES!” He shouted. Thanks to this guy! Thanks to George Mcfly. He saved everyone!” George shook his head. “Don't be modest!” Marty told the fireman, “He should get the key to the city or something, he ran right in that blaze and dragged us all out!” He pats George on the back. The fireman grinned. “Great work son, people will hear about this!” He went back to helping pull out the hoses on the fire truck. Ambulance workers were now attending to Doc and the others. George stood there in a daze looking at the fire and wondering how he got there. Marty took one last look at Doc, and the fire, and Biff and the others, then, another long look at George who was starting to smile in relief and amazement. Marty took off running toward the edge of the estate and the waiting woods. George shouted after him. “Wait! Where are you going? You have to wait for the ambulance.” Marty just kept right on running, disappearing into the darkness and the woods beyond the estate.
21. HEAD CASES The Mercy General Hospital was a tiny little place, by comparison to other hospitals. It had recently just been built. Before that people had to go many a mile for their medical emergencies. Marty walked through the halls marveling at the nurses pointy caps, that looked almost like what nuns would wear. The doctors were all men. Aside from that it was a hospital, not much different than the ones in 1985. He found Doc Brown lying in his bed hooked up to an IV. He was half asleep when Marty entered the room. “Hey Doc,” Marty said, happy to see his old friend alive and well. “How ya feeling?” Doc looked over at him with a blank look. “Who are you?” Marty stopped, not knowing what to say. “Uh, uh... you don't remember me?” Doc looked sad. “Kid, I'm sorry but right now I don't remember much of anything that has happened in the last 2 months or so. They tell me it's some form of amnesia. I have short term memory problems! Are you someone important in my life?” Thinking about his answer carefully he lied. “No,” Marty said, “I'm just the kid that cuts your grass, I heard you were in a fire and I wanted to see if you were okay.” “Do I owe you any money?” Doc looked concerned. “No,” Marty smiled sadly, “I'm good.”
He just stood there staring at Doc fondly, wondering if he would ever remember him. Marty hadn't forgot what Doc had told Biff about brain damage from the plutonium fire. A deep sense of sadness welled up within him. Followed by relief. Maybe it was a good thing that Doc couldn't remember him, or remember about time travel right now. “Oh, I've been to your house,” Marty said to Doc, “I found this in the driveway,” he lied again. He handed Doc a small key. “What is it?” Doc asked. “I think it's a key to a safe deposit box.” Doc looked at it in amazement. “I don't even recall having one of those.” “At least, that's what it LOOKS like,” Marty kept fibbing. “You might want to check it out, could be something of value in there.” Marty smiled to himself. He had rented another safe deposit box and in it he put the key to Doc's original box, that held his memoirs and other important information about time travel. Marty had put several letters he'd written in there, including a replica of the letter the other Marty had written warning him about the Libyans. Doc smiled a and nodded, putting the key on his night stand. “Thanks a lot! I will check it out as soon as I'm better and they let me out of here.” “Good,” said Marty. “Who knows maybe there's something in there that will help me remember the last few months.” “I'm sure it will be very helpful,” is all Marty said. Marty stared at Doc for a good long minute or so in silence then backed out of the room. “Well,” he said as he did so, “I better be going, I've got lots of lawns to cut.” “Strange,” Doc muttered as Marty leaves, “I seem to recall cutting my own grass.” He shrugged. As Marty made his way down the hall he saw Lorraine sitting by George's bedside. She saw him at the same time. “Marty!” She called to him. Quickly she bent down, kissed the sleeping George's hand and got up. Lorraine came out into the hall. “Marty, did you hear George saved people from a terrible fire!” “Ya, I heard,” he said, he's a real hero! Saved four people.” “It was FIVE,” Lorraine says proudly but one person took off. They think he might have been the one responsible for the fire!” “That's crazy,” said Marty. “Listen, Marty,” Lorraine said, “I've been thinking about what you said the other night and you're right. George Mcfly is no coward and this proves it! He just knows how to wisely choose his battles! He's a wonderful man. I was wrong not to see that before.' Marty smiled. “I knew you'd come around.” The smile at each other. “You know,” Marty added, “I've always had feeling you two were meant for each other.” She blushed and smiles.
Marty looked at his watch. “Oh, listen, I gotta run, sorry.” She backed up. “Will we see you later? George doesn't remember much but the doctor's say he wasn't exposed to whatever is affecting his memory long enough to do any real permanent damage!” Marty thout it over. “Not sure... we'll have to wait and see what the future holds.” Lorraine leaned forward and pecked Marty on the cheek. “You're not a monster!” “Thanks.” He said, “neither are you.” She looked at him oddly and he laughed. She lauged too. He turned and headed down the hall. As he turned a corner he heard yet another familiar voice. “Nurse,” the voice of Biff could be heard calling from a nearby room, “nurse.” Biff's tone was so gentle and almost childlike that Marty got curious. He followed the sound and then peeked into the room. “Nurse, nurse!” Biff saw Marty. “Hey, kid!” Biff called to him in a very nice tone. Marty reluctantly stepped forward into the room. He couldn't help himself. “Ya?” He replied. “Can you go find a nurse for me, pal?” Biff asked. Marty stared in awe. This didn't sound like the same old Biff he'd come to know since he made his first time jump. This sounded just like... the Biff Marty remembered, from before the time jump. “I need some more pillows,” Biff said, “my head and my neck are killing me.” Then Biff looked at him in recognition. “Hey, you look familiar, do I know you?” “Naw,” Marty lied, “you don't know me at all.” “Nurse, nurse,” Biff started to whine again. A Doctor came along and eyed Marty as he was leaving the room. “Wow, you're the first visitor he's gotten so far.” The Doctor remarked. “You family?” Marty shakes his head. “No, just passing by here, heard him asking for help. Then in a low tone he asked the Doctor, “Hey, Doc, what's wrong with him can you tell me?” “Well, not really, not unless you're a relative.” Marty shook his head no. “Well, let's just say he's been exposed to something highly toxic,” the Doctor violated his own rule, “I think he may have permanent brain damage, but you didn't hear that from me.” “Of course not,” replied Marty. He left the room and headed back down the hallway. A look of true understanding streaking across his face, and of sadness. He kind of felt sorry for Biff.
* * * * * * * * * *
Marty sifts through the rubble at the burned out site of Doc Brown's estate. There wasn't much left of the Delorean, it's just a pile of twisted and melted metal. “It's all gone,” he muttered to himself. “The time machine, the Plutonium, everything. I'm stuck here. In 1955, for the rest of my life!” He looked up and stared around him, a deep sense of depression sinking in. “Jennifer.” He moaned.
* * * * * * * * * *
Marty now stood in the phone booth at the back of Lou's Diner. He took a piece of paper out of his wallet and read it. “JR Cash” it said, with a phone number. He picked up the phone and dialed. A woman answered. “Hello,” Marty said nervously, “is JR there?” “Who is this,” the woman's voice on the other end asked.” “Tell him Big Mac is calling.”
22. THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES
Friday, October 26, 1985. 1:35 AM A dark figure stood afar off from the Lone Pine Mall. He was far enough away not to be heard, but he could still hear the sound of gunshots and Marty's voice distantly screaming “you BASTARDS!” Rolling down the hill from the “Lone Pines Mall” sign was another figure, dressed in his red quilted jacket vest. He got up and observed as the fateful events that started this entire drama unfolded before his eyes. Just as it had done before. The the Libyrans chase the Delorean around the parking lot and toward the photo booth. When the DeLorean vanished, the shocked Libyans lose control of their van and it crashed into the photo booth and rolled over on its side. Throwing caution to the wind, not even knowing if the Libyans survived the crash or not, the figure ran down to check on poor Doc. The dark figure in the distance stood, peering through binoculars. In complete devastation, the kid fell down next to the inventor's limp dead body and began to mourn. He couldn't bear to look and turned his head. Doc's eyes fluttered. The kid sensed movement and turned back just as Doc sits up. The dark mysterious figure in the distance smiled. “Good for you Doc,” he muttered, “good for you.” Down in the parking lot, Marty Mcfly was beside himself. "You're alive! But how?" Without saying a word, and as if he's just remembering this for the first time himself, the
Doc opened his coveralls to reveal a bullet proof vest covered in flattened bullets. Martys asked "how did you know?" Doc reached in his top pocket and pulled out what looked like the letter he had slipped him in 1955. It was taped back together and laminated to preserve it. But as Marty stared at it something looked different to him. He couldn't place it. Marty demanded, "what about all that talk about screwing up future events? The space time continuum?" To which Doc merely replied, "well I figured, what the hell!" The Dark figure continued to watch from his distance through the Binoculars. A much older and worn Marty Mcfly. He looked to be about 47 to 50 years old. He continued to watch through the Binoculars as Doc and Marty pack up the moving truck on their way to retrieve the Delorean which he knew must be sitting in the middle of town. “You're lucky I don't steal that Delorean from you,” he facetiously remarked to the other Marty down in the parking lot. He watched as they got in and drove away. His binoculars go to the Libyans who never emerge from the van. He watched until the fire department showed up, then the police who bring out the bodies of the Libyans with sheets covering them. “Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of guys,” coldly remarked. He put down the binoculars and sadly turned away.
23. BIFF'S GOT A BRAND NEW BAG Jennifer and Marty got out of the black 4 X 4 Pickup truck and walked silently together down to the railroad tracks. Wreckage was strewn everywhere. They waded among the debris. "You're right" she remarked, "there's not much left." Sadly, he picked something up from the debris and looked at it. "Doc's never coming back." He was holding a torn and burned piece of the old photo which showed Doc standing alone by the clocktower and said, "I'm sure gonna miss him, Jennifer." Suddenly, without warning there was a large FLASH and the familiar sound of a time jump. Their hair was blown back and then they themselves fell backward as well as a train appeared on the tracks before them! It had the letters ELB embossed on its side. The train had all kinds of futuristic accessories. It even had a wing door like the Delorean. It opened and Doc and Clara emerged. Marty was pleased, Jennifer was totally stunned. The Browns introduced their kids, both boys, Jules and Verne and Marty and Jennifer to each other. “Doc, I thought I'd never see you again.” A relieved Marty said. Doc explained that he had to come back and get Einstein and that he didn't want Marty to worry about him. He gave Marty a gift. It was the photograph they both took together at the clock tower commemorative in 1885. Jennifer interrupted, holding the blank fax sheet out to Doc and asking him what it meant. Doc said, "it means your future isn't written yet, no one's is, your future is what you make it, so make it a good one, both of you!"
He told his boys to buckle up and told Marty and Jennifer to stand back. They said goodbye. Marty asked him if he was going back to the future. Doc shook his head. "Already been there." The train rose up into the air, hovering and its wheels folded into the underside of the train. It turned and moved away from them a bit as they watched. It then shot up and over them, vanishing in a flash, leaving behind a flame trail. Not far off, in someone's back yard, Biff stood with binoculars surveying the entire scene. He'd been watching the whole thing. “So,” he spoke to himself, “Doc Brown invented a time machine!” He stopped. “Wait a minute, there's something familiar about that!”
* * * * * * * * * * A Policeman got back into his cruiser after taking one last look around the wreckage at the train crossing. Biff's detailing van pulled up and he and his crew jumped out dressed in coveralls. The officer waved. Biff approached the cruiser and handed him a wad of bills through the window. “What do you think?” Biff asked the officer. Counting his money the officer replied, “Go ahead, there's no casualties. Looks like someone just parked a Delorean on the tracks and then walked away. Witnesses say some crazy kid in a cowboy suit was driving it right on the tracks but there's no sign of him.” He held up a license plate that read “outatime.” “It's registered to an Emmett Brown.” Biff nodded. “I know him.” The officer chuckled. “Everyone knows that crazy old man. I'm off to talk to him right now.” Biff told the officer, “good luck, I bet you won't find him.” The officer looked at him quizzically. “... at home I mean.” Biff said. “I'll let ya'll get to it,” said the Officer as he looked at the sky. “It'll be getting dark soon so you best get a move on. I told the city that I'll take care of the debris here, I'll need some of it to show for my effort.” “No problem,” said Biff, “I'll get up with you later.” The backed up and left. Biff barked orders to his henchmen who were just kicking around the debris. “I want every last nut and bolt!” He saw one of his crew reach down and unwrap a piece of a streamer flag from an axle. His eyes widened and he hurried over there. “Let me see that,” he ordered, snatching it out of the man's hand. He turned it over and over, as if lost deep in a memory. It looked ancient and practically crumbled in his hand. His memory from 1955 had never been the same since the accident, but there was one night he never forgot. November 12, 1955. He thought of the tunnel chase, after Calvin Klein
stole the book for him. He could still remember the odd device the kid used, seeming to float along above the highway. He remembered at the edge of the tunnel, some flying machine swooped in with a multicolored streamer. Biff looked at the piece of matching streamer in his hand, ancient and crumbling. He remembered as Klein grabbed the streamer and just floaed up in the air. In his memory he could now see Doc Brown in the flying machine. Doc yelled, "hang on Marty" and lifted the machine up, carrying Marty to safety. “A flying Delorean.” Biff muttered. Then his mind went to just a few hours earlier. He came out of the house to show Marty Mcfly his new detailing business cards, just in time to see a flying Delorean take off and disappear in a fiery trail in the sky. He remembered that night in 1955 again. He saw himself watching as Calvin Klien floated away in total disbelief. When he looked back at where he was going, he was headed straight for a manure truck. He spun sideways and clipped the truck, the same way he done a few days earlier in front of the diner. Once again his car and even his mouth were filled with manure. He spit manure out of his mouth and screamed, “MANURE! I HATE MANURE!" Biff just sat there, staring at the crumbling streamer. He clenched his fist and it turned practically to dust. The friend who found the streamer asked him, “what's that?” Biff just scowled. “Never mind, just keep working!” The man shrugged and went back to gathering parts up. Biff stared at the string that held the streamer. “Marty Mcfly...” he muttered, “or should I say CALVIN KLEIN? You cost me MILLIONS OF DOLLARS, you sonofabitch, and now, I'm going to take it out of your ASS! “
EPILOGUE Marty Mcfly stood on the dark stage in the spotlight, with a beautiful electric Gibson SG, playing the opening notes to “Folsom Prison Blues.” Johnny case began singing. He sang the first few verses as the song was known. Then he stepped away from the microphone and motioned to Marty, who stepped up to the microphone and began singing “Hill Valley Blues” as he had come up with it in the Hill Valley Jail years earlier when he and Johnny had met. “When I was just a baby my mama told me, Son, When you're grown up I want you to have fun But I got stuck in Hill Valley, in 1955
Marty looked Johnny's way and grinned when he sang the last verse: When I hear that whistle blowing, I hang my head and cry
In 1985, a much aged Marty Mcfly entered his office building and walked down the hallway carrying a set of binoculars. He looked tired. It had been a long night. The walls in the hallway were lined with gold records and photographs and news articles. They showed him, Marty Mcfly, playing on stage with, not only Johnny Cash, but numerous famous artists. There was photos of him playing at Woodstock. There was also news articles following the glowing career of Author George Mcfly. He stopped at a door to an office. The door had large initials that read “BM.” He entered and approached a cluttered desk. He sat down and looked at a copy of a letter he'd recently mailed out. Dear Mr. Mcfly, thank you for your submission, we were very pleased with what we heard and believe that your band has great potential. You definitely have a bright future and we would like to be a part of it. Give us a call at the number below and make an appointment. We must sit down with you and the rest of your band to discuss this brilliant future more in depth. Sincerely, Big Mac, President of Mac Daddy Records.