Chapter One

Monday

October 28, 1985

3:04 PM

By some miracle, Marty McFly had managed to avoid detention on his first school day after his trips through time. He even managed to get to school on time, thanks to his new four-by-four.

Only it wasn't new, at least not technically. He clearly remembered receiving the truck on his seventeenth birthday, back on June 12. He just as clearly remembered seeing it for the first time ever on Saturday morning.

His whole day was turning out like this. When he had first returned to 1985, he had no memory of the new timeline he had created; he remembered his "loser parents", not the "cool parents" that seemed so new in his eyes. He hadn't been around 1985 long enough to get used to the change, and the following "week" he experienced gave him little time to think about it. Still, the thought of how he would adjust to the new-and-improved 1985 bothered him at night back in 1885. He had assumed that his memory would remain intact—there was no reason to suspect otherwise. He would just have to adapt and try to take things in stride, as if nothing had changed. He spent most of Sunday getting the information out of Jennifer, once she was done asking him about his time travels. Thank God she hadn't changed.

Then came the morning. He didn't sleep easily, and woke shortly after six. He wandered the house as if in a trance. Everything he saw brought with it two vivid, competing memories. He couldn't tell which was "real" now.

When he was eight years old, did he light the living room rug on fire playing with his mother's lighter, or playing with matches swiped from the kitchen? In this case, he had a rough idea, but with so much else he didn't have a clue.

He leaned against the driver's side door of his new-yet-not-so-new truck and sighed. The entire day had been like that. He could barely pay attention in class, he could barely focus when Jennifer was talking to him. The one constant was that Strickland was still an asshole. But even that seemed off—why the hell didn't he get detention today?

"Marty?"

Marty jumped a little. He turned around and found Jennifer standing there, worry etched into her face.

"Marty, what's wrong? You've been acting weird all day."

He stared at her for a moment, and he could tell he was making her uncomfortable. Finally, he asked, "Jennifer, when did I first ask you out?"

She was surprised. Marty had told her that his life had been retroactively changed by time travel, but he had never mentioned hers. She briefly considered the consequences for their relationship if there was a change in him she wouldn't remember. She also wondered why he didn't ask this on Sunday.

"On October 29th, last year—my birthday, which was a very nice touch—you asked me to the Springtime in Paris dance."

Marty nodded. "I also remember going to the dance, without a date, hoping you would be there, and finally getting you to dance with me during the last song."

Jennifer's jaw dropped. "That's how you did it originally?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "I know, it's pathetic."

"It's very unlike you," she said. "What it says about your personality… I mean, you don't seem different to me, but…"

She cut herself off and closed her eyes, trying to think of something to say. The voice of the future incarnation of his mother echoed through her brain: I think your mother married him because she felt sorry for him. Did she start dating him because she felt sorry for him, originally? She knew what Doc said about the future not being written, but at that moment she couldn't help but think that destiny had something terrible planned for her and Marty.

She pushed those thoughts out of her head. "What's wrong, Marty? Do you have two memories now?"

"About everything," he said. "It's driving me nuts. I need to talk to Doc."

"Doc didn't say when he's coming back."

"Or even if he's coming back." Marty pounded his fist against the door frame.

"Why don't we check out his place?" Jennifer suggested. She tried to sound optimistic, but she could tell she wasn't pulling it off.

It seemed Marty could tell, too, but went on to say, "What the hell. Come on."

Marty didn't say a word to Jennifer as they made their way to Doc's garage. He briefly wondered if she should be driving; while his memory thing wasn't that bad (since Hill Valley itself hadn't really changed), he was still disoriented enough that driving required him to focus harder than usual.

The garage on John F. Kennedy Drive looked the same as it ever did. Marty parked directly in front, and he and Jennifer made their way to the front door.

Marty looked under the welcome mat. "Damn, his keys aren't here."

"You don't have your own, do you?" Jennifer asked.

Marty shook his head.

"The porch light is on," Marty said.

He reached for the handle and the door opened freely. After sharing a nervous glance with Jennifer—Doc wasn't one to leave his door unlocked—he pushed the door open.

Directly across and not a foot away was a DeLorean time machine.

"Holy shit," Marty said, walking into the garage.

"No kidding," Jennifer said, following behind him and closing the door.

They both circled the car. Jennifer reached out at the DeLorean, her hand inches from the frame at the door and the windshield. Her hand trembled slightly, and finally she touched it.

"Are you sure it was destroyed on Sunday?" she asked.

"Of course I'm sure!" Marty said. He moved in, Jennifer stepped aside, and Marty himself touched the time machine.

"This is heavy," he said.

The two stared at the time machine for a few moments. Finally, Marty tried the car's door.

It was locked.

He bent down and peered inside the window.

"What are you doing?" Jennifer asked.

"I'm trying to read the, uh, time circuits," he said. "See what the last departed time is. But I don't think it's on."

"Marty!"

Marty looked up. There, peering around the corner of the amplifier, was Doc.

"Doc!" Marty shouted, running over. "Doc, where the hell have you been?"

Doc held up a piece of the amplifier. "I seem to recall asking you not to turn on this thing."

"Uh, right," Marty said.

"Doctor Brown, what's happening?" she asked.

"All in good time," Doc said as he ran to the door.

Doc shut the door, deadbolted it, and then he grabbed on to the table with the automatic dog feeder and pulled it in front of the door. Here Marty's double memories asserted themselves again. He remembered Doc showing him the new machine that he had never seen before, and he also remembered being the one who screwed in the last screw and completed it.

"Okay, Doc, you're scaring me," Marty said.

"Just in case the Libyans are on to me," he said.

"The news said the Libyans were killed when they hit the photo stand," Marty said. He felt a little weird about that, being indirectly responsible for their deaths, even if they had been trying to kill them.

"There were more people in the cell," Doc said, turning to the pair. He wasn't dressed in the fancy, late nineteenth century duds he was sporting the last time Marty saw him. His clothes did seem old-fashioned, though. He was wearing a trench coat over brown slacks, a brown shirt, and a white waistcoat.

"We'll probably be fine," Doc said, pulling back his trench coat to reveal a gun holstered to his hip.

"Hey, is that my Peacemaker?" Marty asked. "I don't get it. Where—when are you from Doc?"

"Saturday, September 1, 1894," Doc said. "From my perspective, our meeting on the train tracks was around two weeks ago, but I've been doing a lot of time traveling."

"Then where'd the DeLorean come from?" Marty asked.

"Interesting story," Doc said. "You see, once we completed the train, we traveled first to late 2015 to have the train hover converted and the original battery and discharge system replaced with a far more reliable fusion generator. When I went in to look up your future self, I learned that your son had been murdered a few days previously."

"What?!"

"Precisely. Once the work on the train was finished, I went back to the night of the murder and found a future Griff Tannen with the DeLorean. I ascertained its last departed time and then went forward to intercept it before the 30 year-old Griff found it."

"That really doesn't explain why there's a second time machine," Jennifer said.

Doc looked at her, surprised. Then again, he had to assume that Marty had told her about Griff over the weekend.

He continued, "The time machine out front is a precise temporal duplicate. Somehow, when the DeLorean was struck by lightning on November 12, 1955—when I was flying it, not at the Clock Tower—the DeLorean and everything in it, except for myself, was copied. The 'original' DeLorean was sent back in time precisely 70 years, 10 months, 11 days, 21 hours, and 42 minutes. This duplicate DeLorean was temporally displaced by that same amount, just in the other direction, arriving on Tuesday, September 22, 2026 at 7:24 PM."

"Doc, that really doesn't make any sense," Marty said.

"No, it doesn't," Doc admitted. "It's a very contrived, if convenient, coincidence. It's certainly more maneuverable than the train."

"So why are you here, Doc?" Marty asked.

Doc reached inside of his trenchcoat and pulled out a large, thick manila envelope. "I need to disappear for a while. Not just because of the Libyans, though they provide a handy excuse. I can't just stay in the past, with three individuals who also weren't present in the original timeline and therefore present a danger to the space-time continuum. I also can't just bring them here. How would I explain the presence of a wife and two sons I didn't have the day before!"

"Wait a minute, Doc," Marty said, "How long is 'a while'?"

"Unfortunately, 1994."

"Nine years?!" Marty shouted.

"Is that really necessary, Doc?" Jennifer asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Doc said. "I can't just appear with a wife and two children who appeared from nowhere! I can put up with the things this town says about me, but I'm not about to inflict that upon my family. And I can't keep them in the past, where they were never supposed to exist. The best option is to vanish and reappear when having a wife and children would make sense."

He held up a manila envelope. "The full story is in here. Both of you need to memorize it as best you can. Put it in the safe over in that corner when you're done. I've written down the combination on the first page; memorize it, then destroy it."

"That's a really thick envelope, Doc," Marty said nervously.

"It's not just the story," Doc said. "Remember, I'm going to be gone for nine years. I'm going to need you two to manage my affairs during my absence."

He handed the envelope to Jennifer. "Jennifer, you're officially an adult as of tomorrow. Therefore, you're going to be tasked with the first part of this endeavor. You, and later Marty, will have power of attorney and will be able to sign documents on my behalf. There are instructions inside, which will guide you through the first phase of my plan. Assuming events unfold as I saw them on my last visit to the future, you won't need my help until early in 1987."

"1987?" Marty asked as Doc made for the door.

Jennifer examined the envelope for a moment before looking up at Doc, who was moving the automatic dog feeder away from the door.

"So we're not going to see you until 1987?" she asked.

"Yep," Doc said. "Well, assuming you don't change the future. You of course have the ability to change future events; therefore, it is possible things will change, which will require me to intervene sooner than that date."

"Wait a minute, Doc," Marty said. Doc grunted as he tried to move the dog feeder. Marty ran over to him and helped him push the machine. He continued, "You're only going to see us if we screw things up?"

Doc thought for a moment. "I suppose that statement sounded rude," he said at last, "But that's the gist. I need to spend as little time interacting with this time before I make the final transition to 1994."

"Why?" Marty asked.

"Because Jules and Verne are still aging," Doc said. He held his finger to his lips. The others fell silent, and Doc removed the gun from its holster and slowly opened the door. He took a quick glance outside.

"All clear," he said, and then he re-holstered the gun and went over to the garage door and lifted it open. He continued, "Jules and Verne's ages dictate when I reappear. I'm planning on returning a hundred years after our present, which will make birthdates easier."

"Wait a minute," Jennifer said as Doc opened the gate, "You have a time machine. Can't you just do whatever it is you need to do and come back the same time you left?"

Doc smiled, "You're thinking fourth dimensionally."

"Great, she can do it," Marty grumbled.

Doc pulled out his keys and unlocked the DeLorean. "In essence, that's correct." He sighed and turned to look at the two of them. "Essentially, I'm trying to spend as little time away from my family as I possibly can. I understand that neither of you are used to the idea of me being a family man, but my oldest is eight years old. Neither of you are parents yet, so I don't expect you to entirely understand—"

"We get it, Doc," Marty said.

Doc simply smiled and nodded by way of acknowledgment, and then opened the door of the DeLorean.

"Well, I guess that's everything," he said. He shook Jennifer's hand and gave Marty a hug.

Just before he pulled down the DeLorean's gull-wing door, Marty said, "Wait a minute, Doc."

"What is it?"

"I've been having this weird thing," Marty said. "It's like I have two sets of memories. You know, the way things were before I went back in time and the way they were after. It's driving me nuts, Doc. Is that ever going to go away?"

Doc considered for a moment. "I had a similar experience when you first arrived in 1885. It was far less pronounced, since very little had changed other than that you stayed with me in 1955 for an additional four days or so. If I can extrapolate based on the length of adaptation time, assuming a linear progression, then you are going to go through hell for roughly 48 hours, after which your memories of the original timeline will fade—though not disappear—and your new ones will strengthen. Don't worry, Marty, you'll be able to tell which is which soon enough. When did this start?"

"When I woke up this morning," Marty said. "Around six."

"Unlike you to be awake at so early an hour," Doc said, reaching into his trench coat and pulling out a notepad. He jotted a few things down. "Do you believe that the onset of the new memories caused you to awaken?"

"Uh, I guess so."

"Interesting, interesting," Doc muttered, writing it down. He placed the notepad back inside his trench coat. "Something for me to consider. Goodbye Marty. Goodbye Jennifer."

"Bye, Doc," Marty said glumly.

"Goodbye," Jennifer said in a voice that sounded just as dejected.

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon enough," Doc said. "Take care of each other."

The DeLorean started, drove out of the parking lot, turned onto John F. Kennedy Drive, and was gone.

Marty and Jennifer stood there for several moments. Finally, Jennifer reached out and took Marty's hand.

"1987," she said.

"1987," Marty repeated. He turned to her. "Do you think we should screw things up? Get him to come back early?"

Jennifer gave him a rather amused look and a crooked smile. "You don't mean that."

"Not really," Marty said. His eyes returned to the street.

After another silent moment, Jennifer began to examine the envelope.

"Maybe we should have a look at this," she said.

"Uh, I guess," Marty said.