Back To The Future IV (Back to the Future sequel and remake)

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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”


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 Some of the businesses that thrived in the square have long since been replaced by such “fine” establishments as, “Cupid's Adult Bookstore,” and “Al's Tattoo Art.”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.


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.



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 acid-washed 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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.



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.


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.


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.


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.


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