It was a ship of some kind--the deck of a ship at night. People were packed on this deck, running around, seeming in a panic. What time it was, how long this had been happening--all was a mystery. There was only the ship and the people and the starry sky above. Voices blended together, speaking, yelling, crying, but specifics of the conversation were lost. A feeling of panic and fear was thick in the air. Then, suddenly, the crowd seemed to part and a young girl, no more than six years old, stood. She had long curly brown hair, her big blue eyes swimming in tears. A woman--probably her mother--and a little boy about two years old were with her. The girl was crying loudly, sobbing, as the woman pulled her along with one hand, the other arm supporting the toddler she carried. "Hurry, we must hurry," she moaned to the girl, tears running down her face.
"No!" the girl shrieked, her voice nearly lost in the cries of others. "My dolly! Not without my dolly! I need her!"
The girl's words were thick with pain and grief--so strange and heart wrenching for someone so young. But the mother paid them no heed.
"There is no time," she said with a sob. "No time...."
And then he woke up.
Marty McFly opened his eyes and stared up at the dark ceiling of his room. For a full minute he had no idea where he was, waiting for the fog to clear from his head. When reality began to creep back in, he rolled over and looked at the clock. It was nearly three thirty AM.
Marty sighed softly. "The dream again," he murmured. "Why?"
For the past week, Marty had been having the same dream every single night. Upon waking, details were few and vague to him--something about a ship and a little girl who wanted a toy--but the feeling that the dream left him with was always a profound one of grief and sadness. There was nothing--nothing he could remember, anyway--that was frightening in the dream. No monsters, no enemies of any kind. Yet the dream disturbed him in some way. Maybe it was the atmosphere in the dream, which felt so sad and hopeless.
Or maybe it was the fact he couldn't fall back to sleep after the dream woke him up.
It hadn't been so bad the first few times. But now, after a week of this, getting through days on four hours of sleep--or less--was getting to be really irritating.
Marty got out of bed and went to the window in his room. He looked outside, at the black sky above. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he muttered, rubbing his forehead. He wasn't one for reoccurring dreams--in fact, as far as he could remember, this was the first time he'd ever had a dream that was identical to the one the night before. And the subject matter was so odd for an repetitive dream.
Marty turned away from the window after a few minutes and left his room. He walked quietly down the hall, to the living room, and turned the TV on, the volume low. From bitter experience, he knew that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't fall back to sleep. Not now, not tonight, anyway. The last couple nights, he had passed the time by watching TV.
Marty hadn't been there long, watching a rerun of "The Brady Bunch," when he heard a door open from down the hall. His eyes shifted over in time to see his mother poke her head around the wall.
"Marty," she said softly, squinting at him in the flickering light of the television. "What are you doing up?"
Marty shrugged, reluctant to tell anyone about his problem. "Ah, bad dream," he said vaguely.
His mother put on her concerned face. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly, taking a step into the living room.
"No, it's okay," Marty insisted. "Go back to bed. I'm fine."
"Well...all right." Lorraine McFly looked at him again, still appearing worried, but vanished back down the hall. Marty turned his eyes back to the TV and tried not to worry himself. Maybe it's time I got some other opinions on this, he thought.
"That's weird, Marty," Jennifer Parker said the next day, as the two of them took a walk around the lake. It had been Marty's suggestion--he wanted to talk to his girlfriend in a quiet place free of distraction about his little problem. It was his hope that she might catch something he hadn't in figuring out what this dream either meant or why it was bugging him.
"You're telling me," Marty agreed, staring out at the flat surface of the water. "I don't know why I'm having these dreams--and I can hardly remember them once I wake up, too!"
Jennifer frowned thoughtfully. "So you're on a boat?"
"A ship," Marty corrected, surprised how certain he was of that. "It was too big to be a boat. I'm on the deck of this ship, it's night, and people are all around me. Lots of people. Then this girl walks before me with a woman and a toddler and she's crying, upset about some kind of toy." Marty paused, straining his memory for more details but found none. He shrugged. "That's all I remember."
"Weird," Jennifer said again. She was silent for a few minutes before she asked another question. "How are the people dressed?"
Marty blinked at the query, totally baffled by the question. "Dressed? What do you mean?"
"Well, are they dressed for cold weather, warm weather, are they dressed like people on a cruise, poor people, rich people--whatever. You can tell a lot about people from clothes," Jennifer added.
Marty stopped walking and closed his eyes for a moment, straining to remember. "I...I don't know," he finally said. "I think the girl was wearing a dress, but it....I don't remember," he said, opening his eyes.
"Hmmmm," Jennifer murmured thoughtfully. Marty stared at her, suddenly worried about something else.
"You don't think I'm crazy, do you?" he asked.
Jennifer looked at him, shocked. "What? Oh, Marty, no!" she said quickly, hugging him. "These are probably just dreams, nothing more. Why do you think that would make you crazy?"
"I can't sleep after them, Jen," Marty said softly. "And I've never ever had the same dream--the exact same dream--more than once. This is so spooky, like something out of the Twilight Zone."
Jennifer was quiet again for a minute. "Have you told Doc Brown about this?"
"No, you're the first," Marty said. "Anyway, why would I want to tell Doc? He's a scientist, not a psychologist."
"But if he's a scientist, then he might know more than you or I about sleep and dreams and that stuff."
It was a good point. "I guess...." Marty said slowly. "Fine, I'll ask Doc about this."
"Meanwhile, I'll be there for you," Jennifer said. She smiled suddenly. "This feels like a mystery to me, and I've always loved mysteries!"
"Believe me, it's not as fun as you'd think," Marty assured her.
Doc Brown was busy installing the now-complete and functional holographic projector programming in the DeLorean when someone knocked on the door. Instinctively, Doc started to yell "come in" when he realized that would be a lost cause. Only Doc or Clara could open the doors in the lab with the current security measures. Sighing to himself over this, Doc set down the tools in his hand, climbed out of the DeLorean, then opened the door. Marty McFly stood on the stoop.
"Hey, Doc," he said, coming inside without a verbal invitation. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"
Doc closed the door. "All right," he said. "I suppose I need a break anyway."
Marty noticed the open doors of the DeLorean for the first time and raised an eyebrow as he sat down at one of the work table stools. "What'cha doing?"
"Installing the software to the holographic projectors in the time machine's circuitry," Doc explained. "It's finally working now." Doc couldn't help grinning over that. Finally, the time machines could remain hidden in the times traveled to! It was a long-anticipated accomplishment.
Marty nodded at the news. "Cool," he said. "Listen, Doc, I need to tell you something."
Marty's tone was serious. Doc immediately tore his thoughts away from his new invention and took a seat next to his friend. "What?" he asked.
Marty told him about the reoccurring dreams--slowly at first, then more rapidly once he noticed he had Doc's full attention. When he had finished his strange tale, Doc said nothing as he mulled over the words. Marty immediately looked scared.
"Doc? I'm not...crazy, am I?"
Doc smiled at the concern. "Hardly," he said. "Marty, are these dreams really bothering you?"
"No, I find them super pleasant--and I like getting only a few hours of sleep a night. Doc, of course they're bothering me! Why else would I tell you about them!"
"All right," Doc muttered, a little stung by the sarcasm. "I've got something that might help you out--if you want my help."
"Yeah, sure. I'd do anything to get rid of these things."
Doc got up from the stool and walked over to one of the many shelves lining the east wall of the lab. "It won't get rid of it, perse, but it could assist us in that goal."
Marty looked extremely curious now. He followed Doc over to the shelves and watched as the scientist lifted a cardboard box from the lowest shelf, setting it down on the table nearby. "What do you have in mind?"
Doc rummaged around in the cluttered box, finding what he was looking for after a couple minutes. He pulled it out, untangling the wires as he went. It was a headband, designed to fit across a person's forehead and around the back of the head, similar to a hat. Many wires connected to the band from all around, joining together in a cord of wires that ended with a plug to fit into a connecter in the computer that Doc had in the lab. Marty stared at it with a baffled look on his face.
"What the hell is that?"
Doc held it up, examining it as he spoke. "You put this on your head and it reads your brainwaves."
Marty looked skeptical. "This isn't another brain wave analyser, is it?"
"Not exactly. Come here and I'll explain." Doc walked over to the computer he had purchased in the mid-1990's, when the machines would be very commonplace and therefore a bit more affordable. Plus, the technology in this future computer was much faster and easier to use than the current computers. Doc switched the machine on. While he waited for it to boot up, he plugged in the cord to the back of the machine and started his lecture.
"Verne had some nightmares about a year ago--typical childhood ones with being chased, or falling, or having monsters attack, that sort of thing. Anyway, after a couple weeks of this, none of us in the house were getting much sleep. So I created this thing." Doc tapped the wired headband. "It reads the brainwaves and analyses them--"
"So it is a brainwave analyser," Marty interrupted.
Doc shook his head. "No. You didn't let me finish. It reads the brainwaves, analyses them, then translates them into English. It's closer to a electroencephalogram than a mind reader."
Marty appeared confused. "Can you just tell me this in English, Doc?"
Doc sighed at Marty's impatience, but cut to the chase. "It is able to read dreams and put them into English. The signals the wires pick up is put into this computer and a program translates what is going on in your head and puts it on paper, so to speak."
"Are you telling me this thing can record dreams? Far out!"
"Not record them, exactly," Doc corrected. "It writes out what you dream, as if in a story format. A cryptic story format, if that. But it worked with Verne. Once he was able to see his dreams on paper, he realized he didn't have to be afraid of them anymore, and the nightmares stopped."
"But Doc, I'm not afraid of my dreams," Marty said. "They're just bugging the hell outta me. How's this gonna help me, then?"
"You said earlier that you had difficulty remembering your dreams upon awakening. It's my belief that by using this, you will be able to see many forgotten details in your dreams and perhaps figure out the cause of them."
Marty nodded, now understanding. " I get it. Then what?"
Doc shrugged, turning to the computer now that was done booting up. "Then you can confront your dream demons, I suppose."
"Sounds way too complex to me," Marty admitted. "So how do we go about this?"
Doc called up the program he had made to read, analyse, and translate the brainwaves to text. "You'll spend the night here, in the lab," he said as he worked. "I can set up the cot in here. We'll wire you in, hopefully you'll fall asleep and have the dream, then we'll figure out what to do from there."
"What if I can't sleep?" Marty asked.
"You will eventually. We'll just try until it works."
Marty looked uneasy. "I don't know if my parents will let me stay over here. They've been really paranoid since I turned up missing those few days in March."
"If it would help, I could telephone them and explain the situation," Doc said. "I'll tell them that you're helping me with an important series of experiments relating to sleep."
"All right..." Marty said, a little doubtful. "If you think this'll work...but I have class on Monday at ten."
"We'll be done by then," Doc promised. "In the meantime, no naps, no caffeine, no strenuous activities the last three hours before you usually go to bed--and come here in comfortable clothing."
Marty looked a little taken aback at the list. "Okay...." he said slowly. "What time do you want me over here?"
"Anytime you are ready to begin," Doc said.
While it had sounded like a good idea in the middle of the afternoon, Marty was now starting to have serious doubts about Doc Brown's little experiment. He showed up at the lab around eleven, with the permission of his parents who Doc had indeed called. The scientist, still working on the new holographic program in the DeLorean, paused in his work to show Marty how to put the headband on. Marty, noticing the bare metal sensors that would be touching his skin, had started to have his first misgivings then.
"This isn't going to electrocute me, is it?" he couldn't help asking as he examined the headband. Doc, over at the computer, had shaken his head.
"No, it's harmless--but you don't want to go swimming with that thing on."
Marty swallowed hard at those words. "That's good to know," he murmured, slipping it on.
Doc checked a few things on the monitor, then nodded to himself. "Looks like the sensors are working properly."
Marty leaned over as Doc pointed to a series of squiggly black lines that were running across the top of the computer screen. "What are those?" he asked.
"Your brain waves. According to the computer, you're sending out alpha rhythms now. Those are present in relaxed but alert people."
Marty started to feel like he'd been transported in the middle of a science lecture. "How do you know that?" he asked.
Doc shrugged. "In the late 1940's, the science area of sleep interested me and I spent some time studying it. This continued into the 1950's, when I attempted to create a device that could analyse brain waves. During that project, I did extensive research about brainwaves, the patterns they created, and what the patterns meant about the brain's activity."
"Oh," Marty said. Doc continued on with his impromptu lecture.
"There are four different stages of sleep, in terms of the brain waves," Doc explained, getting up to pace the lab. Marty took his chair. "We rotate through them in several cycles throughout the night--usually three cycles that last about 90 minutes each. In the first stage, dozing, the waves are small, irregular, and rapid. If one is woken up from this stage, they don't know they've been asleep yet. The brain waves in the second stage are called sleep spindles and are traced out in large and slow patterns. This is also known as the light sleep stage, and it's the stage where people spend over half their night in."
"Uh huh," Marty said, wondering if this lecture was supposed to put him to sleep. He hid a yawn behind his hand as Doc went on.
"In the third stage of sleep, brain waves go into what are called delta waves--an even larger and slower pattern. This stage of sleep is deep and restful. Stage three is followed by stage four, the deepest stage of sleep. Not everyone reaches this point every night. After the fourth stage we have rapid eye movement--or REM--sleep. It's in this stage where we dream." Doc paused, looking at Marty. "Are you getting this so far?"
"More or less."
"Good. REM sleep usually occurs about 90 minutes after we first reach stage one of sleep. The stage receives its name by the fact that our eyes twitch and move under our lids at this time. It's quite fascinating what occurs with the body in REM sleep. The heart rate increases, breathing becomes irregular, and the blood flow to the brain is higher in REM then it is at any other time--even higher then when we are awake." "Weird," Marty commented.
"Yes," Doc agreed. "While we are in this stage of sleep, our bodies are also paralysed and unable to move. Some believe this prevents us from physically acting out our dreams--though, oddly enough, sleepwalkers are not in REM sleep when they sleepwalk. Everyone dreams in REM, even those people who claim to never dream. The ability to recall our dreams, however, varies from person to person."
Doc paused in the lecture and pacing to look at Marty. "Am I boring you?"
"It's a good thing." Marty assured the scientist. "Maybe I'll be able to fall asleep quicker."
"Actually, Marty, I hate to disappoint you, but I don't know if you'll sleep much tonight," Doc said. "Most people find it difficult to assume their normal sleep patterns the first night in a strange environment."
That made sense, Marty had to admit. Usually the first night in any new place--and he'd had his share of them since the time machine was invented--found him not sleeping particularly well. Even if he would be thoroughly exhausted.
"Why don't you just use the sleep inducer on me, then?" Marty asked, the idea just occurring to him. It seemed so simple he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it earlier.
But Doc shook his head. "That's not a natural sleep, and if you want to have this dream that is causing you so much grief, it would be best if we allowed things to progress naturally."
"Well, that's great," Marty sighed. "So should I just go home now?"
Doc shook his head immediately. "No. After a night or two spent here, you sh
ould assume your normal sleep habits."
Marty shrugged. "You're the doc, Doc."
Doc checked the time on one of his watches, then looked at Marty. "Are you ready to try to sleep?"
Marty shrugged again, leaving the chair and heading for the cot next to the table. "I guess so," he said. "Are you going to be in here?"
Doc nodded, gesturing to the DeLorean. "I've got a project to finish up--and I need to monitor the computer."He hurried around the lab, turning off lights until the only one lit was a portable lamp in the DeLorean. Marty settled back on the cot and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on relaxing. It wasn't as easy as he first thought--and the cot wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep in the world. And it seemed the harder he tried to sleep, the harder it was to actually do so.
When the clocks in the lab struck midnight, Marty finally opened his eyes and looked around. Doc was in the DeLorean, head bent over whatever he was trying to cram in the already crammed interior of the car. Marty rolled over and watched him for a while, allowing his mind to wander freely. Gradually, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Marty fought it purposely, afraid once he actually closed his eyes he'd be wide awake again.
This entire situation is so weird, he thought, remembering Jennifer's earlier comment. Why am I going through all this for a stupid dream?
But he knew it was more than just a dream--and that thought followed him down as he finally closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Doc Brown took a break from his work in the DeLorean shortly after three in the morning to check on Marty and the computer. From Doc's external observations, his friend was asleep. According to the computer, Marty was hovering somewhere in stage two of sleep. Doc had checked on him on and off, since Marty had fallen asleep sometime around one, and so far the teen had gone no further than stage two. It was slightly frustrating for Doc--and, he was sure, for Marty--but to be expected this first night.
Doc knelt down next to the cot and gently adjusted the headband, which had slipped a bit from Marty's tossing and turning. His sleep, according to the computer, was light and sporadic. Marty slept through the adjustments and Doc headed over to the worktable to pour himself another cup of coffee from the thermos he had brought in the lab an hour earlier.
All this for a dream, Doc mused, glancing at the computer and Marty for a moment before taking a sip of the still-hot coffee. And a reoccurring dream at that. Doc had never experienced that particular phenomenon, and in fact found it fairly difficult to remember his own dreams. He had read a bit about the nature of dreams on and off whenever he happened on an article about it. How dreams were supposed to be messages from the subconscious.
But from Marty's description of his bothersome dream, it didn't strike Doc as a hidden meaning dream. It seemed very vivid to Doc, though Marty could remember little details. Doc almost had this feeling that he knew what Marty's dream was about, but the more he thought about it, the more certain Doc was that it was merely his own imagination making that connection.
The idea continued to haunt Doc, though, even as he returned to his work in the DeLorean, completed the instillation, and tested it successfully.
Marty woke around 6AM, without getting anywhere near dreaming. He looked at the scientist as Doc sat at the computer, examining the readings from the night.
"I didn't have the dream, did I?" he asked in a flat voice, rubbing at his eyes.
"No, you didn't even get past the second stage of sleep," Doc confirmed.
"Figures--I feel like I hardly slept at all." Marty took off the headgear and swept a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. "I'm gonna go home now."
"All right. Are you game to try this again tonight?"
Marty shrugged as he got up. "Sure, why not."
Doc turned around in the chair to stop his friend as he headed for the door. "You'll have to do the same thins you did yesterday," he said. "Avoid caffeine, naps, any kinds of drugs or alcohol."
Marty made a face, but nodded. "Okay."
For Marty, it was an easier promise to make than to keep. One way he had combated the exhaustion that came from having so little sleep the past week was drinking caffeinated soda. That went right out the window on the worst possible day--the day he had his political science class.
The lectures in that class were always terribly dry and boring and the professor had a stutter; it was hard staying awake after a good night's sleep. Marty dug his fingernails into his palm and pinched his arm as he kept his head up and attempted to follow the lecture. When that just made him feel even more sleepy, he changed his tactic and attempted to write a song in his notebook. His band was currently on the verge of breaking up--something that Marty now knew was a good thing, not bad--yet he still planned to follow his musical dream. Though he found the words that emerged from his pen to be clumsy and awkward and would in no way make a good song, it did get him through the 90 minute class without dozing.
After his first class was over, Marty had over an hour's break for lunch. His second Monday class started at 1PM--music appreciation. He had always enjoyed the class, but today his enjoyment was compounded by the dull feeling in his mind that made it hard to think straight. Once the hour long class ended, it was off to college algebra. Marty spaced the entire lecture and found he couldn't even get through the first problem assigned for homework.
Oh well, he thought as he packed up his backpack to leave. Guess Doc'll have plenty of time to help me out with that tonight.
Marty couldn't stop yawning as he drove over to Jennifer's place from the school and thinking how good even a cup of coffee--a beverage which he didn't really care for--would feel in his body. His girlfriend met him at the door with a concerned look on her face.
"Marty," she said as he stepped inside her house, "don't take this the wrong way, but you look terrible."
"Thanks," Marty said, not offended. He only had to look in a mirror to see the dark circles under his eyes. "Are your parents home?"
Jennifer shook her head as she closed the door. "No, they're both at work. Why?"
Marty sat down on her living room couch. "I saw Doc last night and we tried that thing he made, to read into dreams." He had called her after stopping by Doc's place and explained to her what the scientist had in mind.
"And?" Jennifer asked, joining him on the couch.
Marty shook his head. "Nothing. Not yet, anyway. Doc thinks that maybe tonight I could have the dream--something about how people don't sleep well the first night in a new environment."
"That makes sense," Jennifer agreed. "I never sleep well the first night when my family goes on vacations."
Marty sighed. "It better work tonight. I'm beat, and I can't do anything about it. Doc doesn't want me near caffeine or naps today." His eyes, flickering around the room, noticed a paperback book lying on the coffee table before the couch, spine up, open to the midst of the novel. "What's this?" he asked Jennifer, changing the subject.
"It's a book for the class I'm taking now--that history class that covers the first half of the 20th century," Jennifer explained. Marty picked up the book and examined the cover.
"'A Night to Remember'," he said aloud. "What's it about?"
"It's a recreation based on interviews and records of the sinking of the Titanic." Jennifer's eyes sparkled as she spoke. "Oh, that's such a fascinating piece of history! It's so tragic, of course," she added, looking almost guilty in her enthusiasm, "but I've been interested in that ship for years. They found it in the ocean in 1985, in September. Remember?"
"Vaguely," Marty said honestly. With so many other things that had happened in the ladder half of that year, it was a miracle he could remember anything before October of '85.
"Well, anyway, we're studying the Titanic right now in class. It's so interesting--I'm serious, Marty, that's probably the one event I'd like to travel back in time to see."
Marty looked up at those words, a slight smile playing around his lips. "I thought you hated time travel, Jen."
Jennifer shrugged. "The Titanic would be different--all that elegance, the history surrounding that ship. There will never be another Titanic, Marty."
"Doc would never go for it," Marty said, setting the book down. "Too much chance of either screwing up history or dying. It'd be like a death sentence on that ship, Jennifer. Scary if you ask me."
Jennifer sighed, her voice wistful as she spoke. "Oh, I know that. But still--I'd like to see it in person."
The entire subject of the Titanic was giving Marty the creeps--and he wasn't quite sure why, either. "It'll never happen," he said, trying to get his mind of the topic. "You'd have a better chance of convincing the school to give us every Friday off then you would have convincing Doc to take a spin back to the Titanic."
"Oh, Marty, I know that," Jennifer said. "But still...it's nice to imagine."
"Imagine all you want--it's not gonna happen," Marty said. He wondered, briefly, who he was trying to convince more--himself or Jennifer.
The telephone rang before the conversation could go any further. Jennifer got up to answer it in the kitchen. A moment later she stuck her head in the living room. "Marty, your mom is on the phone," she said, holding out the handset to him. "She says it's important."
Marty sighed and got to his feet. Ever since his little disappearance the month before, when he had become stranded in the future briefly, his parents had been tracking his every move. "Yeah, Mom, what is it?" he asked when he'd taken the phone from Jennifer.
"Marty? Can you come home now?" His mother's voice sounded serious, which caused Marty's heart to start pounding.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"It's your great-aunt Josephine--my aunt," Lorraine explained quickly. "You remember, your grandfather's sister?"
Remembering was not one of Marty's strong points on this day. He could faintly recall a grey-haired woman at the name, but the relative was one he rarely saw--the last time he'd probably seen her was at his grandfather's funeral in 1984. Sam Baines, his mother's father, had died of a heart attack while mowing the lawn.
"Sure," he said to his mom. "What about her?"
"Well, she's had a stroke, and is in the hospital right now--I just got the telephone call. I think it would be nice if we visited her there."
"Now?" Marty asked.
"Yes, now," his mother said. "The doctors are not sure how much longer she'll be with us."
Marty sighed, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the wall. "Why do I have to go?" he asked softly, struggling to keep from whining the question. Exhaustion always played havoc with his emotions.
Lorraine's voice grew a bit sharp. "She was a kind woman, Marty--and she always liked you. Don't you remember?"
"Not really," he sighed, giving in. "Fine, I'll go."
"Good. I'll see you shortly, then."
Jennifer was standing in the doorway as he hung up the phone. "I've gotta go," Marty said, a note of apology in his voice. "Some old relative is in the hospital and Mom's convinced we've all gotta go and see her now."
Jennifer frowned. "I'm sorry, Marty. Who is it?"
"Some great-aunt," Marty said. "I don't know her that well, but Mom said she really likes me." He shrugged, heading for the front door. "It'll just be easier to go and not have an argument about it."
"Let me know what happens tonight with Doc Brown," Jennifer said as she followed him. Marty paused long enough to give her a quick kiss.
"You'll be one of the first to know what--if anything--happens," he promised.
Marty arrived at Doc Brown's lab nearly an hour earlier than he had the night before. Doc was busy at the worktable, constructing additional circuitry and software for holographic programming to be installed in the train time machine. He estimated the construction alone would take at least a week--considerably shorter than the prototype that had been installed in the DeLorean--now that he knew exactly what to do.
Doc had propped the lab door open for Marty's arrival, and the teenager entered with hardly a sound. It wasn't until Doc had that unnerving sensation of not being alone anymore that he turned around and saw Marty hovering behind him, trying to see what the scientist was working on. Doc set his tools down to turn around and give his full attention to his friend.
"How was your day?" he asked.
Marty shrugged, glancing at the mess on the table. "Could've been better. What's that?"
"It will be the holographic circuits for the train once I'm done," Doc said. "The DeLorean's are already installed and work quite well."
"Can I see?" Marty asked.
There was nothing Doc liked more than a curious and interested audience for his invention demonstrations. "Certainly," he agreed quickly. Doc took the DeLorean keys from the lab coat pocket that he wore and quickly unlocked the car. "It's a little complex to learn," Doc said as he took a seat in the driver's seat and gestured for Marty to take shotgun. "But once one gets the hang of it, it is quite simple."
"What do you have to do?" Marty asked.
Doc flipped the sun visor down and pointed to a switch now set in a new addition to the time machine--a small LCD screen and a keypad like a telephone, the buttons all flat. "This is the switch to the HIS."
"HIS?" Marty echoed. "What's that mean?"
"Holographic Imaging System," Doc explained. He flicked the switch and the LCD screen lit up. "This activates the system, which works even when the car is off. It uses Mr. Fusion for power and, so as long as the fusion generator is filled, the HIS can function. It can be on for 99 years on one fusion tank before the system fails." "Huh," Marty said. He stuck his head out of the car for a second, looked at the hood of the vehicle, then leaned back inside. "I don't want to disappoint you or anything, Doc, but I can still see the car."
"Of course," Doc said, unconcerned. "The system is in neutral right now." Doc punched in the numbers 247, then hit the "enter" key. The system emitted a soft beep, then the LCD read
"Now step outside a few feet," Doc said, smiling. Marty followed the suggestion. Doc watched with satisfaction through the open door as Marty's jaw dropped.
"Holy shit, Doc," he breathed. "It's--it's gone! The DeLorean's gone! I can see through it! But--but I can see you and the inside of the car through the door!"
"Of course," Doc said again. "The illusion works only on the exterior of the time machines. Now come closer, until you can touch the time machine with your hand."
Marty did as Doc asked, his eyes widening. "I can see it now!" he said. "Did you turn it off?"
Doc shook his head. "The illusion works only if someone is more than a foot away from the vehicle. Any closer, and you can see the time machine. I did it that way on purpose, however--imagine how difficult it would be to unlock the car door if you couldn't even see it!"
"I get it," Marty said. "How'd you get it to be invisible?"
Doc pointed to the keypad in the visor. "You will notice that, like a touch tone telephone keypad, this keypad has numbers that also have the letters of the alphabet in them. I wanted the DeLorean to look invisible, so I punched in 247--or, if you look at it alphabetically--AIR, or air."
"Cool," Marty said, nodding. "Can you type in anything?"
Doc shook his head quickly. "No. I've only allowed three options so far--the time machine can appear invisible by punching in AIR, like a tree by punching in TREE, and like a typical automobile by putting in CAR."
"Are you going to have any other options?" Marty asked.
"Eventually. But the programs take time to create and install. These three will work fine until I have the time to add more."
"What happens if someone accidentally walks into this?" Marty asked.
Doc shrugged, switching the HIS off and returning the visor to its original position. "Then we're in trouble. But so long as the time machines are parked in an area that is not traveled or visited much, it will be fine. The roof of a building would suffice quite well in the current times."
Marty eyed the car with a half-smile on his face. "Does this mean you're getting ready to travel through time more often?"
"Not necessarily--this is more a security precaution than anything else." Doc locked th e DeLorean up, then turned back to Marty. "Are you ready to give this dream another try?"
"I guess so," Marty said. "I'm definitely ready to get some sleep, that's for sure." He shrugged his jacket off and slipped it over the back of a chair as Doc turned the computer on and got it warmed up. Marty flopped down on the cot with a sigh. As Doc waited for the computer to fully boot up, he handed the headset to Marty.
"Did you follow the directions I gave you this morning?" Doc asked. "Did you avoid all beverages with caffeine and prolonged periods of rest?"
"Yes," Marty said softly, pulling the headset on. "And I kept busy this afternoon, too. Mom dragged us all to see old great-aunt Josephine in the hospital. Guess she had a stroke and isn't expected to live long."
"I'm sorry," Doc said, though he had never heard Marty mention this particular relative before. "Were you close with her?"
"Not really. She was one of those relatives that I never saw except in family reunions or whatever. I guess she really liked me, though, according to my mom. I can't imagine why." Marty yawned. "She wasn't really aware of who we were today, though. Didn't say a word at all or even look like she knew who we were."
"Strokes can be quite dehabilitating," Doc said. The computer finished its warm up and Doc quickly started the program. He examined Marty's current brainwaves and wasn't terribly surprised to see that the teen was in an alpha state. "Whenever you're ready, the equipment is," Doc explained. "I'll be over here doing more work on the programming for the train's HIS."
"Okay," Marty said, closing his eyes.
Doc moved away from the computer and went back to his project, occasionally pausing in his work to look over the blueprints he had constructed. The work was thought-intensive and engrossing--when Doc finally looked up and checked the time, he was stunned to see half an hour had passed. He quickly set down his tools, stood up, and went over to check on Marty.
His friend was asleep--in stage two, according to the computer. Doc estimated he'd fallen to sleep not long after lying down. As he sat at the computer, examining the readings, there was a knock at the lab door. Doc got to his feet, crossed the lab floor, and opened the door a crack. Clara stood on the stoop, a tray in her hands.
"How are things going?" she asked softly as Doc opened the door all the way.
"Well, Marty's asleep," Doc answered in the same quiet tone of voice. "He's already in stage two, which leads me to believe that he might reach REM later tonight and dream. And if you're inquiring about the HIS for the train, that project is also coming along nicely."
Clara nodded as she stepped inside and set the tray on one of the worktables. A thermos of coffee and a plate of cookies was laid out. "I thought you might want a snack," she said.
Doc smiled at the thoughtfulness of his spouse. "Thanks," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "I was just thinking about how much I wanted some coffee."
Clara smiled and returned the kiss. "Don't work too hard, Emmett," she warned. "You need your rest, too."
Doc waved his hand. "Oh, I'm fine," he said. "I can sleep tomorrow--and I'm used to working through the night."
"All right," Clara said. She looked over at Marty, frowning faintly. "This is all perfectly safe, correct?"
Doc nodded. "Definitely. Don't you remember when I used it on Verne?"
"Oh, that's right," his wife said. She headed back to the door. "I'm going to bed now. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"Good night," Doc said. The door clicked shut softly as Clara left the lab. Doc poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up a couple cookies, then checked the computer screen again. Marty had slipped to stage three.
Excellent, Doc thought, pleased. We're making progress.
On the cot, a few feet away, Marty was lying on his side, under a blanket, motionless and silent. Doc examined him from a clinical standpoint, noticing how still his friend lay, the only sound that of his breathing, slow and deep. It fit with what he knew about the third stage of sleep. Doc checked the time again and realized it was nearly 45 minutes into this sleep cycle. REM and dreaming could begin as early as twenty minutes from then.
Doc watched the computer for a couple minutes, then sighed and crossed the room again to his other project. A watched pot never boils, he thought. Time would pass much quicker if he was occupied with something else.
Doc turned his attention to the blueprints, checking the computer twenty minutes later. Stage four, now. Doc couldn't help watching Marty's face as he stood next to the computer, waiting for him to slip into REM.
Then, suddenly, Doc saw his eyelids twitch. He looked over at the computer screen. Still in stage four. But, as Doc watched, that transferred to REM. Doc shifted his eyes over to Marty and noticed he was definitely dreaming now--his eyes were moving like mad under his closed eyelids. Doc sat down at the computer and watched as the machine started to read into what he was dreaming about, transferring it's readings into a text that scrolled down one area of the screen.
The people are upset. There is a feeling of sadness in the air. Hopelessness. Some are crying. Some are calm. There are small boats being loaded. Women and children only. Some refuse to leave. Some are thrown in. The people loading the boats are men. They do not care what the women and children want. They have a job to do. Time is running short.
Crowd seems to part. A woman steps in view. She is holding a boy, a toddler, in one arm. The other hand holds a little girl's hand. The three are dressed plainly. They wear the white vests. The three are crying. The woman speaks.
"Hurry, we must hurry!"
"No!" the little girl says. "My dolly! Now without my dolly! I need her!" "There is no time," the woman says. "No time...."
Voice is lost, suddenly. The scene starts a fade. A woman walks by with a blanket wrapped around their shoulders. Name on it. White Star Line--Titanic. Feeling of grief increases. Scene is dimming-- Night. Late at night. Clear sky. Many stars. Middle of ocean. Cold--very cold. On the deck of a ship. It's a big ship. There are many people around, different ages, crowding decks. All are in white vests. Padded vests. Women are in dresses, men in suits. Some dressed better than others.
From the cot, Marty let out a moan, then suddenly opened his eyes. Doc turned his head at the noise, watching his friend as he woke up. Marty blinked several times, rubbed his eyes, then seemed to notice where he was.
"Doc," he said hoarsely. "The dream!"
"I know," Doc said evenly. "I got it all on the computer."
Marty sat up, throwing back the blanket and sweeping the headgear off with his hand. He stood up and leaned over Doc's shoulder to see the computer screen. "Where is it?"
Doc pointed to the window of text at the bottom of the screen. "Right here."
Marty read it all silently. When he was done, he shivered. "I feel the weirdest sense of deja vu..." he murmured.
"Of course," Doc said. He pointed to the last couple sentences of the dream. "Look right here. What does that say?"
"'White Star Line--Titanic'," Marty said aloud. He frowned. "Titanic," he repeated. "Doc, was that the Titanic I was dreaming about?"
Doc Brown nodded. "It appears so." He turned to look at Marty. "How much do you know about that event?"
"Not much," Marty admitted. "I know that it happened sometime after 1910 and that the ship hit an iceberg and sank. Lots of people died because there weren't enough lifeboats."
Doc nodded, though something seemed a little strange to him. "Is that all you know?" he pressed on.
"Well, I know Jennifer's really interested in the event and studying it right now in school--but I just found that out today."
"Interesting," Doc muttered.
"What is it?" Marty asked. He sounded wary. "Is something wrong?"
"Not exactly--I just find it strange how your dream is so detailed about the Titanic when you know so little information."
Marty found a chair and pulled it over to the table where Doc was, sitting down next to the scientist. "Why's that?"
"For the simplest and most logical reason," Doc said. "Dreams are usually based on our knowledge--be that in the subconscious or conscious level of the brain. That you're dreaming of an actual historical incident that you know so little about--and that this dream also happens to be very detailed.... I find that highly odd."
Marty frowned again. "So what do you think that means?"
"I have a few theories, but they aren't very scientific. Let's first focus on these people that seem to be centralized in your dream--the woman and the children. Do you recognize them?"
Marty closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he thought. "I don't think so," he finally said, opening his eyes.
"Hmmmm," Doc muttered. "Is this the same dream you've been having all week?"
Marty nodded. "Yeah, definitely. Never changes, and it always wakes me up."
"Do you always wake in the same place?"
"I think so. I don't remember anything else, anyway."
"Hmmmm," Doc said again. He was silent as he reread the dream text, thinking. Marty shifted next to him, obviously impatient.
"Doc? What do you think this dream is?"
Doc was silent as he thought some more, finally speaking. "I have a few theories about this," he said, a bit reluctantly. "They're a little odd, but science still has yet to explain precisely what dreams are, why we dream, and what they mean."
"Uh huh," Marty said. "So what do you think?"
"Well, perhaps these people you are dreaming about are related to you in some way. They are obviously the central characters in the dream sequence. Did you have any ancestors who were on the Titanic?"
"No McFlys," Marty said, his voice filled with certainty. "They were over here already."
"What about your mother's side of the family?" Doc asked.
"I've never heard any stories," Marty said. He yawned, leaning back in the chair. "I guess it's possible, but it'd be weird that I would've never heard about it."
"Did you ever ask?"
Marty snorted softly. "No. I've never even given much thought about the Titanic until earlier today, when Jen was talking about it. Anyway, what's that got to do with my dream?"
"Little, perhaps," Doc admitted reluctantly. He switched the computer screen off. "These people--that mother and those two children--are probably a central theme in your dream. We need to discover their identities."
"And how are we going to do that?" Marty asked. "Go back to the Titanic and ask them?"
Doc shuddered at the very idea. "No," he said. "There are survivor lists that were printed."
"But how are we going to know who they are?" Marty persisted. "They didn't include physical descriptions with names."
"I'll see what I can dig up through research," Doc said. "And I'd like your assistance on that. Can you meet me at the library tomorrow afternoon?"
"Sure, I guess," Marty said. "I don't get out of class until two."
"All right. Would three be a good time to meet?"
"Sure," Marty said again. He stood up. "I guess I'll go home now, unless there are any other things you need me for."
"No, I think I have everything. Let me know if you have this dream again tonight."
"Doubt it," Marty said, pulling his jacket off the chair. "I can't sleep after these dreams, no matter how hard I try. Why else do you think they're bugging me so much?"
"Then you can start some research of your own," Doc said. "Check with your parents to see if they knew of any relatives that were on the Titanic."
"All right," Marty said, heading for the door. "But don't be surprised if there isn't anyone."
Marty was a little late to the library for one reason--when Jennifer had heard the latest news about his dream and Doc's theories, she'd invited herself right along for the afternoon of research. Marty didn't really mind--it gave him more time with his girlfriend, after all--but he couldn't help thinking that this obsession of Jennifer's over the Titanic was a tad bit...odd. When she arrived at the library with Marty, though, Doc Brown didn't mind at all--he remarked how nice it was of her to help them with the research, then handed her some newspapers and had her start searching for survivor lists.
Doc had pulled Hill Valley Telegraphs from the week the Titanichad gone down, issues dating from April 15, 1912 to April 22, 1912. It was his hope that survivor lists from the ship would be printed--or at least passenger lists. Marty didn't know what to be looking for. He had asked his mom that morning if she had ever heard of any ancestor being on the Titanic, and her reply had been as he had expected--she had never heard about anything like that before.
The job was tedious--only Jennifer seemed to really enjoy it. She sat across from Marty at one of the heavy wooden tables provided in the archive room, in the basement of the library, her eyes shining as she looked over the bound yellowed newspapers.
"This is so amazing," she murmured, looking up at Marty with a glow on her face. "I can't believe you've actually been dreaming about the Titanic! That's so neat!"
"If you want to trade places with me, you can in a second," Marty said. He yawned as he poked through the papers before him, turning to Doc. "Are you sure that the HVT reported about the Titanic? It was on the other side of the country from them!"
Doc, at a different table a few feet away, looked up for a moment. "It was a rather big news story for the times," he said. "I'm almost sure that the paper covered it."
"Look," Jennifer said, pushing over one of her bound newspapers to Marty. She tapped the headline that was spread across the front page. "Here it is."
The paper was dated April 16, 1912--a day after the sinking of the great ship. The headline was large and took up the entire area under the masthead. "Unsinkable" TitanicSinks! Hundreds of Lives Lost! Jennifer waited for Marty's acknowledgement that he saw the headline before taking the paper back and scanning the article.
"This is amazing," she said after a moment. "I can't believe how many facts they got wrong in this! According to this thing, only a couple hundred lives were lost!"
"Remember, this was in a time before instant communication was really possible," Doc said. He got back to his feet and headed for the bookshelves that contained back issues of newspapers, all bound together in convenient volumes. "I'm going to get some issues of the New York Times from that month," he called over his shoulder.
"Fine," Marty said, not really caring. He leaned back in the chair, stretching, fighting back another yawn. Last night had to be the shortest period he'd slept before that damned dream. Even caffeine wasn't helping him much today.
Jennifer hardly noticed her boyfriend, entranced with the newspapers. "This is just so weird," she commented, looking up. "They got so many of the facts wrong, and it seems like they just make up what they don't know." Jennifer frowned, looking irritated. "That's shoddy journalism."
Marty rubbed his forehead, wishing his headache would go away. Squinting at tiny print and breathing in ancient dust wasn't making it any better, that was for sure. "It was probably normal in those days," he said. "It's in the past--they can't do that now without getting sued."
"Still," Jennifer huffed. "If I was a journalist, I'd never make up lies or exaggerations."
Doc staggered out of the aisle, three large volumes of bound newspapers in his arms. He dumped the pile with a hard smack on the table Marty and Jennifer were sharing, then picked up the volume on top. "These are issues of the New York Times, dating from April to May, 1912," he explained. "Start trying to find a list of passengers and survivors."
Marty heaved a deep sigh, looking over at Jennifer. "I can't believe you find this interesting."
"Oh, Marty--it's fascinating! I mean, the Titanic alone is really interesting, but this mystery with your dreams makes it even more so."
"I don't get what's so interesting about the Titanic," Marty said, rolling his eyes. "The ship hit an iceberg and sank. End of story."
Jennifer frowned at him. "Oh, it's much more than that. Why else do you think this shipwreck captured so much attention the past 75 years? People still talk about it, Marty. There are actually organizations and clubs revolving around Titanic, even now."
Marty looked at his girlfriend skeptically. Doc suddenly let out a cry from the table over, slamming shut the newspaper book hard.
"Jennifer! Great Scott! I cannot believe we didn't think of it earlier!" he exclaimed, rushing for the stairs that led to the upper levels of the library. Marty stared after him, not moving, while Jennifer leapt to her feet and rushed after the scientist.
"Doc? Dr. Brown, what is it?" she called. Marty finally got to his own feet, curiosity proving more powerful than exhaustion. He followed the pair as fast as he could up the stairs to the main level of the library. Doc was over at the card catalog, flipping through cards.
"It never occurred to me earlier," he was saying as Marty reached them. "I cannot believe how ignorant I was, how I neglected to think of this!"
"Think of what?" Marty asked, terribly confused.
Jennifer answered his question. "Think of a book, silly! Lists of the passengers and the survivors were printed in books on the Titanic!"
"And surely a book would yield much more information than an ancient newspaper," Doc added. He stopped flipping through the index cards, grunting in satisfaction at what he saw. "Jennifer, see if you can find the book 'Titanic--The Ship of Dreams' by Cameron Dawson in the history portion of the library," he said.
Jennifer nodded at the request, leaving to take care of the task. Marty leaned against the rows of drawers, watching Doc as the scientist resumed flipping through the cards. "Jeez, you guys are obsessed with this," he commented.
Doc spoke without looking up. "It's not an obsession, Marty. We are merely trying to get to the bottom of these dreams you're having."
"But you're taking them too seriously!" Marty cried, forgetting for a moment that he was in a library. "Dreams are dreams."
Doc paused in his work, looking up at Marty and raising an eyebrow. "Would you rather we do nothing?"
Marty didn't say anything. He didn't want the dreams anymore, that was sure. But it bothered him a lot how seriously Doc was taking the matter. Especially since Marty was the one having the dreams. If it meant something, he didn't necessarily know if he wanted to know what that was. There was one time in his life, over a year ago in Ancient Egypt, when his dreams had been more than mere dreams--but those ones were different every night. And sleepwalking had always accompanied them, something that was not happening now. Yet the idea that these dreams were some kind of sign and were there for a reason--that spooked Marty.
"I don't care anymore what you do," he muttered. Marty left his friend at the card catalog, taking a seat at a table nearby as he waited for Doc and Jennifer to find whatever they were looking for. He honestly didn't care anymore about this little research project.
Having nothing else to do, Marty put his head down on the table and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he felt something cool touch the back of his neck. Marty raised his head immediately, startled, and saw Jennifer smiling down at him, resting one hand on the back of his neck.
"Did you enjoy your nap?" she asked.
"Huh?" was Marty's dazed response.
"You've been there for half an hour," Jennifer said. She rushed ahead before Marty could say anything else. "Look what Doc and I found while you were sleeping."
Jennifer pushed a large heavy book forward, open to text, before him. "Look at this," she said, pointing to something on one of the pages. "This is a list of passengers on the Titanic from the third class. The ones in italics are the survivors."
Marty looked at the portion of the list that his girlfriend was pointing to.
Alexander, William
"That's my grandfather!" Marty exclaimed in surprise, as his eyes fell on the listing of 'Baines, Samuel.' "My mother's father! But, man, he had to be a baby then."
"Or perhaps a toddler," Doc Brown corrected, suddenly appearing at Marty's side. "Didn't you say that your great-aunt was named Josephine?"
Marty nodded. "Yeah, she's in the hospital right now--" He stopped suddenly, realizing something as he looked back down at the list. "Whoa, she was on that ship, too!"
"Was there another member of that family?" Jennifer asked. She pointed to the first name. "Anne Baines. Who was that?"
"I don't know--maybe she was my great-grandmother. I know that my great- grandfather died in some kind of accident when my grandfather was a baby. And it was not on the Titanic," he added quickly.
"Wow, Marty," Jennifer said, breathless. "You had ancestors on the Titanic! How neat! How exciting!"
"How interesting, considering your dreams," Doc interrupted. From the expression on his face, he clearly had more to say about that matter. "These three people could be the people you see in your dream."
At the suggestion, Marty suddenly recalled that very poignant scene in the dream. The girl crying out for her doll. The woman insisting they had to hurry. The little boy in the woman's arms.... A very strange sensation of deja vu swept over him again and he shivered, suddenly feeling like he was walking over someone's grave. "Maybe," he murmured.
"No maybe about it," Doc said decisively. "Now that we know what we do, we must find a photograph to confirm the identity of these three people--or at least one of them. Does your mother or grandmother have anything like that?"
"My mom might," Marty admitted. "I don't know where it would be, though."
"There's a simple solution to that," Doc said. "Ask her."
Allum, Owen G.
Badman, Emily
Baines, Anne
Baines, Josephine
Baines, Samuel
Barton, David
Beavan, W.T.
Marty got the chance to ask his mother about potential photographs that evening over dinner. That night happened to find his entire family around the dinner table. No small feat now, what with his brother now working and living in L.A. with a big corporation, and his sister residing in her own recently acquired apartment at the other end of Hill Valley. But Dave had earned some time off and had come back home for a couple days, and his sister would occasionally dine with her family. That Tuesday night happened to find them both there.
Marty was quiet as his parents questioned his brother and sister about their jobs and the recent occurrences in their lives. Dave had met a girl in L.A. and it was getting serious. His sister suspected that her boyfriend, Craig, would propose to her soon. As the dinnertime chatter swirled around him, unnoticed, Marty tried to think of a good way to work his question into the conversation when, quite by accident, the problem was solved for him.
Lorraine turned to her son when there was a pause in the conversation. "How is school going, Marty?"
Marty blinked, startled by the question. And then it came to him. "Well, actually, there's one thing I might need your help with...."
"What's that?" his mom asked.
"Well....we're doing this genealogy thing for one class and I needed some pictures of all my relatives," Marty said slowly, trying to think as he spoke. "From a hundred years ago to the present. Do you have any?"
Mom frowned, thoughtful. "I think I might have some of my own family, out in the garage. If not, I'm sure your grandmother would." She looked at George, across the table from her. "George, do you have any old family photographs?"
Marty's father finished chewing his bite of salad before he answered his wife's question. "I'm not sure," he said, looking to Marty, "but I'll bet your Grandma Sylvia or Grandpa Arthur would have something like that. I'm sure they'd be happy to help you out, Marty."
Marty nodded at the suggestion, though he didn't really care much about the McFly history at this point. He turned back to his mother. "Can you check if you have the pictures after dinner? It's really important since...the paper is due on Thursday."
Lorraine shook her head at her son's procrastinational tendencies. "I suppose, Marty. But it would be nice if you gave your homework more thought before the eleventh hour."
"Oh, come on, Mom," Dave began with a smile. "You only live once. Part of the fun with college is pulling all-nighters."
Not really, Marty thought, wondering if that dream was going to come back now that he knew more about it. He'd much rather stay up all night doing homework than have that dream again. Because....
Because if I still have it after all this, then how can it be stopped?
Marty tried not to think about it.
After dinner, as promised, Marty's mom dug through the boxes stored in the open attic in the garage and located an old photo album. She handed it to her youngest son, sprawled on the couch and watching MTV.
"This should have what you want in it," Lorraine said as Marty sat up and began to flip through the aged pages. "It belonged to my grandmother--your great-great grandmother, Anne Baines."
Marty raised an eyebrow, surprised at the mention of the name. "Thanks, Mom," he said, looking down at the pictures. From the clothes the people in them were wearing, he guessed it was sometime in the late 1800's. Too early. He flipped ahead several pages. Photos of buildings, of people. Nothing yet.
Then, in the lower lefthand corner of a page in the middle of the album, he saw it. It was a family photograph--husband, wife, baby, and little girl. They sat in fine clothing, their faces serious for the portrait. Marty stared at the face of the woman in particular, his heart thudding in his chest, goosebumps and chills suddenly running over his skin.
It's the woman in my dream! he realized at once. And that little girl...and baby...they're the kids! I know they are!
Marty slipped the photograph out of the brackets holding it in place and turned it over. There, in old-fashioned script, were the words, "Mr. and Mrs. William Baines, daughter Josephine, son Samuel, May 1911."
Marty stood up, the photograph in one hand, and hurried to his bedroom. He picked his cordless phone up and dialed Doc Brown's number. After three rings, Doc picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Doc, it's Marty. I got some really interesting news."
"What is it?"
Marty shut his bedroom door so he couldn't he overheard by his family. "You know those people I've been seeing in those dreams? Well, they are those people on the Titanic. They are my relatives."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. I have a picture right here of them all." Marty swallowed hard as he looked at the photograph again, then tossed it on his nightstand. "There's no doubt. The names are even on the back of the picture."
"All right, that's good."
Marty waited for Doc to say more, but the line was silent at the other end. Well, not entirely silent--he could hear the faint sound of someone talking in the background. Clara, maybe, or one of the boys. "What do we do now?" Marty finally asked.
"There isn't much more we can do," Doc admitted. "Now that we know what we do about the dreams, they might very well go away."
That sounded far too easy for Marty's opinion. "What if they don't?" he asked immediately.
"I suppose we'll have to consider that problem if it occurs," Doc said after a long pause. "If you do have this dream again, let me know. And if anything changes in the dream, let me know that as well."
Marty didn't like the idea that he wasn't "cured," so to speak. "But what do we do then?" he asked softly. "I want these dreams to stop, Doc. If I keep having these dreams and having no sleep, I'm gonna go crazy!"
Doc sighed at the other end of the phone. "Marty, your problem is my problem, too, now. We're in this together. I'll assist you in any way possible in discovering what these dreams mean--or at the very least, putting a stop to them."
"That's great, Doc, but what if you can't figure it out?"
"What if the sun explodes tomorrow? What if you're in a car accident tonight? What if another Tannen gets their hands on a time machine? You can't worry about all the 'what ifs,' Marty, or you will drive yourself crazy. Just take it one night at a time. If it's any consolation," Doc added quickly, "I believe there are reasons behind these dreams, reasons why you are having them. And once the reason is discovered, they will stop."
Marty wasn't comforted at all by Doc's words. In fact, he felt worse. "Great," he said flatly. "Listen, I've got some homework I should start doing now. I'll call you if I have another one of those dreams."
"All right. Good luck."
"Thanks." Marty hung up with that send off. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed. Marty picked up the photograph and stared at it. He sat like that for a long time before setting it aside and starting his homework.
Lorraine McFly was on her way to bed, switching most of the lights off as she went--her husband, George, was still in his study, working on his new novel--when she noticed the crack of illumination under Marty's door. She hesitated in her trip to her bedroom, then knocked on the door softly. When there was no answer, she pushed the door open a crack and peered inside.
Marty was lying on his bed, on his stomach, a textbook open on the covers next to him. His head was resting on the open pages. It looked like he had fallen asleep right in the middle of reading. Lorraine pushed the door open wider and slipped inside the room, taking a moment to tug a blanket at the foot of the bed over her son, slip the book from under his face (a move which he slept soundly through), and turn off the lights in his room.
She paused in the doorway on her way out, turning to look back at Marty. The curtains were open, faint light spilling across the bed from outside. She smiled a little as she stepped out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her. Marty looked so peaceful.
But Marty was feeling anything but peaceful.
He stood on the deck of the ship, watching the chaos swarm around him. The frightened babble of voices, different languages, rushing past his ears. The cold air touching his skin. The feeling of panic, of fear, of sadness in the air.
The deck tilted sharply under his feet, faint groans emitting from below the boards. The sound seemed to raise the voices even higher. And then he saw them, the family, just a few feet away. The frantic mother, pulling her daughter along with one hand and cradling her son with her other arm. The expression in her eyes was similar to one of a deer caught in headlights.
"No, Mommy!" the girl shrieked as her mother pulled her towards one of the lifeboats loading up.
"Hurry, we must hurry," the mother moaned to the girl.
"No!" the girl shrieked, stopping her feet dead. "My dolly! Now without my dolly! I need her!"
The mother ignored the protest of her child, gripping her hand harder and yanking her sharply along. "There is no time," she said with a sob, her voice not entirely unapologetic. "No time...."
The young girl halted again. "Wait, Mommy!" she said. She turned and looked up at Marty, the silent and unnoticed observer. "This man can get it for me. You can get my dolly, right? Please?"
"Josephine Marie Baines, you come with me now!" the mother said sharply, angry now. "We can't be goin' back for your dolly. If--if we survive this, I'll get you a new one."
"No!" Josephine shrieked, launching into a fresh storm of tears. "No, I want Rose. I want my dolly! Daddy gave her t'me! I can't lose her!"
The mother shook her head, more tears on her face now. "Come, child," she murmured softly.
Josephine went, but not without another glance at Marty. "Get her for me," she whispered plaintively. "Please, mister, I know you can. Please get me Rose."
Marty stared at her, eyes wide, unable to say a word. The deck of the ship tilted sharply, abruptly. He lost his balance, tripped over something, fell backwards--
--and woke up, his heart thudding in his ears, his mouth dry.
Darkness surrounded him, completely disorienting him. Marty sat up, blinking hard, trying to remember where he was. After a moment, things fell into place. He was in his bedroom at home.
Could've sworn the lights were on earlier, he thought dimly.
Marty leaned over and switched his bedside lamp on, squinting against the sharp shock of light. When his eyes had adjusted, he checked the time. 11:56PM. Not even midnight. He groaned softly.
It's getting to be less and less sleep, he thought uneasily. First I'd wake up near dawn, then after two...now it's not even midnight yet? Christ!
Marty picked up the phone and dialed Doc's number. It ran six times before it was finally picked up.
"Hello?"
"Doc? It's Marty. I had another dream."
"Already? Was it the same as last time?"
Marty frowned, thinking. "No, I don't think it was," he said slowly. "It seemed longer and I think--I think more happened."
"What happened?"
Marty closed his eyes, hoping that would assist his memory. "The little girl--Josephine-- spoke to me. And her mother called her by name."
"What did she say?"
"She wanted me to do something, I think." Marty opened his eyes, sighing deeply. "I don't remember any more than that."
Doc was quiet for a full minute at the other end of the line. "It changed," he muttered finally, sounding as if he was thinking aloud. "Is this the first time it changed?"
"Yeah, I'm almost positive it was," Marty said.
Another silence from Doc. Finally, the scientist sighed. "Marty, I don't know what else to say about this currently."
"It's getting worse, Doc," Marty said darkly. "I used to have this dream near morning, around five or six AM. Now it's not even midnight! And it's only been about a week since this started! If this keeps up, I won't even be sleeping soon!"
"I think this matter requires more research," Doc said. "We'll need to look up everything we can about this portion of your family tree. Is your grandfather still living?"
"No, he died a few years ago. And my great-aunt is practically a vegetable now."
"I take it your great-grandmother is deceased as well, then."
"Oh, I'm sure--I've never met her, I know that much."
Doc was quiet again. "Keep me posted about these dreams," he said after a pause. "If you persist to have them. We can hook you up to the computer again if you want, as well--"
"Let's wait a couple days on that one," Marty said. "Til the weekend, at least." He groaned softly. "Man, why couldn't this happen during the summer or something? If this keeps happening, my grades are gonna drop."
"Take it one day--and night--at a time, Marty," Doc reminded him. "Pardon the pun, but the situation is not worth losing sleep over."
"But I am losing sleep, Doc," Marty said softly. "I just wish we knew why."
Jennifer Parker ran into Marty during her boyfriend's lunch break. He was heading out to the park that was set in the courtyard of the campus' main buildings. Jennifer hurried to catch up with him.
"Marty!"
Marty turned, smiling faintly. "Hey, Jen."
Jennifer frowned as she grew closer, getting a better look at her boyfriend's face. "Oh, Marty, you look terrible!"
"Thanks," he said flatly. "Glad there's a consensus going."
Jennifer blushed, realizing how harsh the words sounded. "That's not what I mean," she corrected quickly. "It's just you look so...tired."
Marty nodded once, walking slowly to a set of long benches under an oak tree. "I had another dream," he said. "Last night." He sighed heavily, sitting down on one of the benches. Jennifer sat down next to him, a mixture of curiosity and excitement tugging at her now. A part of her winced at her feelings, but she couldn't help it. As twisted as it sounded, she wished she was in Marty's place now.
"What happened? The same things?"
"Sort of. There was something new, though. First off, I found out that those people I was seeing in the dream were the same that were related to me. I found a picture. There's no doubt." Marty paused to yawn. "Then in the dream, the girl spoke to me. I don't remember what she said, though. The worst part is that I had this dream and woke up before midnight last night. I spent the whole night awake. I tried everything and I couldn't fall back to sleep!"
Jennifer rubbed his back gently, noticing how tense he felt under her fingers. "I'm sorry, Marty," she said softly. "Does Doc have any ideas what to do next?"
Marty shrugged. "Studying that part of my family and see what we can come up with. And maybe hook me up to that computer again in Doc's lab. But--" He was interrupted by another yawn. "But I don't want to do that," he finished faintly. "Even though I think I got less than two hours sleep last night."
"Do you want to lie down for a few minutes?" Jennifer asked, concerned. "Maybe a nap might make you feel better."
"I have class at one...."
"I'll wake you up for it," Jennifer said. "I'm done for the day. My Spanish class is canceled today, since the professor is sick."
Marty looked at his watch. "I've only got half an hour."
"That's good, then," Jennifer said. "I read somewhere that the best naps are ones half an hour or less."
Marty leaned forward, rubbing his face with his hands. "I guess," he said slowly. "I shouldn't have any nightmares if I have to wake up so soon, either--" He stopped talking suddenly, sitting up so fast that Jennifer nearly fell backwards, off the bench. "That's it!" he exclaimed, drawing stares from a few passerbyers.
"What's it?"
"I can sleep fine!" Marty said, showing the most energy Jennifer had seen in him the last couple days. "The dreams are what bug me. If I can wake myself up every half an hour or so, then I shouldn't dream and I can get a night's sleep!" He threw his arms around Jennifer and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. "Jen, you're brilliant!"
"I didn't say anything," she said, smiling at his reaction. "That was your idea."
Marty shook his head. "I can't believe I didn't think about it before! Jeez! All I have to do is set my alarm to go off every hour or so, and the dreams will stop! It's so simple." He grinned. "Wait'll I tell Doc!"
Doc Brown arched an eyebrow at the plan Marty had just explained to him. "You plan to do what?"
The teen grinned, looking happy despite the exhaustion on his face. Doc had been in the cellar, working on the HIS installations for the train, when Marty had shown up, straight from classes. "I'll have my alarm go off every hour or so, so that I won't have the dream. It'll wake me up, but I'll be able to go back to sleep since I won't be dreaming."
Doc frowned at the plan, taking a rag from one of his pockets and wiping his slightly greasy fingers off on it. "It's a short term answer," he said after a pause.
Marty's grin faded and a guarded look replaced it. "What do you mean?"
"Humans need to dream. You may not think so, since some people claim not to dream, but they are just not able to recall them. When experiments have been performed with the goal of preventing people from dreaming, the results have shown that people deprived of REM sleep are short-tempered, paranoid, display erratic behavior, and sleep badly when they are asleep."
Marty shrugged, his mouth set in a tight line. "I don't care," he said. "Unless you have any better ideas--"
"Yes, I do," Doc said. "We must discover the reason behind your dreams."
"But until we do, I'm gonna do things my way," Marty said firmly. "Now just tell me this-- how long is it after a person falls asleep before they start dreaming?"
"Marty, I don't--"
"How long, Doc?"
Doc sighed. "Approximately seventy to ninety minutes after we first fall asleep."
"All right," Marty said, nodding. "So I should set the alarm to go off every hour or so, then."
Doc sighed again. "This isn't the final answer, Marty--"
"No, but at least I can get some sleep while we work on the main problem!" Marty said, a little sharply. He turned and headed up the stairs, to the lab above. "I'll talk to you later."
Doc watched him leave before returning to the interior of the train. He'll have to discover it himself, he thought as he went back to work. I did all I could.
Marty arrived at Jennifer's house right on time for their semi-regular video night. It was his girlfriend's turn to pick the movie, which Marty didn't mind--he could hardly concentrate enough to drive, let alone select a movie that would be agreeable to both his and Jennifer's tastes.
Since Wednesday, he'd been setting his alarm clock to go off every hour in the night. While his idea had worked--he could sleep without dreaming--Marty found he didn't feel any better. He was just as exhausted as he had been before--and, since yesterday morning, he'd felt as if he was coming down with something. The back of his throat ached dully, like he was coming down with a cold.
If anything, he felt worse than he did while he'd been having the dreams--completely burned out. Thinking became harder and harder to do, and it became harder and harder to shake the dark thoughts that would whisper in his ear.
Am I going crazy? Is this what insanity feels like? What if I can't even sleep all the way through the night ever again? What if the dreams never stop?
Marty swallowed hard as he stood on the Parker porch, knocking on the door. I gotta snap out of this, he thought, trying to push the worries out of his mind. He and Jennifer were going to have a nice evening together and he wasn't going to worry about his problem, not now. Save that for the future.
Jennifer answered the door with a smile. "Great, you're here! My parents just left with the Carsons for dinner and a movie. We've got the place to ourselves."
Marty managed a somewhat strained smile back. "Great," he echoed, stepping into the house. "What movie did you get?"
"Romancing the Stone--it has Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner in it."
"Oh yeah--I think I saw it once before. Pretty good movie."
Jennifer looked at him critically as he sat down on the sofa. "How are things going? Any more dreams yet?"
"No, but I've been taking those precautions, setting my alarm and all that."
Jennifer nodded. "I suppose if that works for you," she said, something in her tone causing Marty to look at her hard.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Jennifer took a step back at the sharpness in his voice. "Nothing, Marty," she said mildly. "I just think...well...." Jennifer stopped, obviously uncomfortable. "I think I'll make some popcorn."
Marty knew that wasn't what she meant at all by her comment. Pressing her about it, though, required energy and determination--both of which Marty was lacking. He watched Jennifer as she went into the kitchen, adjacent to the room, then picked up the television remote and turned the set on. Marty stopped at MTV, which was currently showing a Twisted Sister video.
"Do you want anything to drink?" Jennifer called from the kitchen.
"Pepsi'll be fine," Marty answered. He yawned widely, closing his aching eyes for a second. The past few days, any light had been like tiny needles of pain right into his brain. He was so glad that today had actually been overcast and a little drizzly.
The telephone rang, causing Marty, with his strained nerves, to jump. Jennifer picked it up in the kitchen. "Hello? Oh, hi, Grandma. I'm fine. Uh huh. Uh huh. Can you hold on for a second?"
Jennifer popped her head out of the kitchen. "It's my grandma," she explained needlessly. "You can start the movie if you want--this may take a few minutes."
"I can wait," Marty said. "Don't worry about it."
Jennifer smiled at him, then ducked back in the kitchen. Marty sighed deeply as the music video shifted over to a commercial. He really shouldn't have been here this night--even if it was a Friday, he had a pile of homework that he had to do over the weekend that he had put off all week. And then he had to work tomorrow afternoon for a few hours at the music store.
But it's not like I'm gonna get anything done if I go home, Marty thought. Best to spend those hours, where he would be sure to just waste time in his house, with his girlfriend. Even if he wasn't really feeling social.
Marty sighed again, allowing his body to fall to one side so he could bury his face in one of the soft pillows on the couch. Jennifer's mom seemed to have a pillow fetish; on every piece of furniture in the living room, there were these big, fat, soft pillows. So many, in fact, that Jennifer would often move them to the ground or another piece of furniture if she and Marty were going to sit together on the couch.
"I think it's a hobby of hers," Jennifer once joked to Marty. "My dad collects model cars; my mom collects pillows."
Could be worse things to collect, Marty thought. He turned his head slightly, so he could breathe better. Staring at the commercials as they slowly rotated on the TV, Marty reflected how much people took sleeping for granted. He had never thought about it much before, until the past couple weeks. Now, it seemed he couldn't go more than a minute without thinking about it. About how much he wanted to sleep, at least for one night, straight through with no weird dreams. He missed that thing, that normal little thing that sleeping was.
"I'm going nuts," Marty muttered. He felt as if he was slowly unraveling, a little more each day. If he was like this after almost two weeks of the dreams, what would he be like after another two? How could he function then? Marty had already had enough trouble with that the past week.
And what were the reasons behind the dreams? Marty was afraid that there were none. Granted, they did know who the people were--and they were real people, not random faces or characters. But as much as Marty strained, he couldn't think of one reason or one event that had started the dreams. One night he was fine; the next, the dreams had started.
On the coffee table, a few feet away, was the book Marty had noticed Jennifer reading in the beginning of the week--"A Night to Remember." His eyes were drawn to the cover of the paperback, which showed a painting of the ship with lifeboats surrounding it in the ocean, chunks of ice floating in the sea. Marty reached out and flipped the book over, so he wouldn't have to have the cover staring up at him anymore.
"It's in the past, but the past is past, so why is it bugging me so much?" Marty mumbled, wondering if the words would sound as strange to others as they did to him.
Oh my God, I'm losing it.
Jennifer finally hung up the phone, ten minutes after her grandmother had called. Since the death of her husband about five years ago, she was a little lonely and Jennifer hated not talking to her for at least a few minutes if she called and her parents weren't around.
Finally, though, Jennifer managed to end the call and return to the task she had originally gone in the kitchen to do--fix popcorn for herself and Marty. It took her only a few more minutes to load the air popper, pop the kernels, then salt and butter them. She grabbed a can of Pepsi for Marty and a can of 7-Up for herself out of the fridge, then juggled the drinks and bowl into the living room.
"Sorry that took so long," she was saying as she stepped into the room, "but my grandma was--"
The rest of the sentence died from her lips as she stepped all the way into the room and saw Marty. He was sprawled across the couch, eyes closed, and looked as if he was asleep. Jennifer set the food on the coffee table, then bent close to his ear.
"Marty?"
No answer. By the sound of his breathing, he was out cold. Jennifer leaned back with half shrug, then sat down on the floor next to the couch and started the movie with the remote. She certainly wasn't going to wake him. Even if he would want her to do such a thing, probably, she believed it would be better for him if he slept. And if he had the dream, well....
"Utterly fascinating," Jennifer murmured under her breath, a sidelong glance at her paperback book nearby. She would've given anything to see his dreams, experience the closest thing to being there on the Titanic before it went down. It was her personal, and secret, opinion that Marty's dreams might stop being so bothersome if he stopped fighting against them so hard. If he would just relax and go with them, then maybe he wouldn't be so upset by them.
Jennifer smiled slyly as she glanced at her boyfriend, then back at the TV screen. She would let him sleep until he woke on his own.
The movie sucked Jennifer in rather quickly, and soon she forgot all about Marty and the dreams and the Titanic. Then, about an hour after she first started the movie, she was jarred uncomfortably back to reality with the sound of a voice.
"No. No, I can't do it."
It was Marty. But he sounded....odd. Jennifer turned around to look at him. He still looked like he was asleep. But--
"I'm not doing it. I can't," he said, the words uttered slowly and with what sounded like some effort. Jennifer realized at once what was happening and leapt to her feet to grab a pad of paper and pencil. Marty was talking in his sleep, likely in the midst of the dream right then. She wrote down what he was saying, perching herself on the edge of the coffee table.
Marty rolled over onto his back suddenly, the move a little stunning in it's speed for someone asleep, his brow furrowed and a pinched frown on his face. "I can't get her for you, okay?" he said, lifting an arm into the air and letting it drop again, as if he was pushing someone away. His voice began to rise. Jennifer half wondered if he would wake himself up from his shouting. "Leave me alone. Please.....leave me alone and get on the boat. Go with your mother. Your doll will...will be fine. I can't be here....I can't do it."
Marty moaned softly as Jennifer's pencil raced across the paper to capture every single word he said. "No!" he yelled. Then, he suddenly rolled over again, onto his side, so fast that the move toppled him off the couch and onto the floor.
Jennifer stared down at her boyfriend, not saying a word. Marty blinked, finally waking up. He sat up slowly and looked around with a dazed expression on his face, rubbing his head. Finally, his eyes seemed to clear and he noticed Jennifer.
"What happened?" he muttered.
"You know better than I would," Jennifer said. "Did you have that dream again?"
Marty nodded slowly. "Uh huh." He looked at her, somewhat accusingly as he pulled himself up off the floor and onto the couch. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"You need sleep, Marty," Jennifer said. "Did you find anything....unusual about your latest dream?"
"It was different," Marty said slowly, thoughtfully. He yawned. "I spoke with that girl this time."
"I thought so." Jennifer got to her feet and headed for the telephone in the kitchen. Marty's bewildered gaze followed here.
"Where are you going?"
"To call Doc Brown--I think he needs to know about the new developments."
"New developments?" Marty echoed. "What're you talking about? I don't remember that dream much at all, even if the damned thing woke me up."
Jennifer smiled slightly as she dialed the telephone number, though her expression would not be seen by Marty in the other room. "You'll see."
Jennifer reached Doc right away, outlined what had happened to Marty, and his response was to invite the both of them over to his lab for a discussion--"a brainstorming session," he called it. Marty followed his girlfriend out to his truck, his questions to her going unanswered. She didn't know why she didn't want him to know about the new problem he was having-- perhaps because she didn't want to deal with the reaction by herself.
Doc was waiting for them in the lab when they arrived, pacing around with a thoughtful look on his face. Jennifer noticed that there were several books about the Titanic and several xeroxed copies of the HVT lying around one of the worktables. Doc, apparently, was conducting his own research on Marty's problem.
"All right," Marty said as Jennifer shut the door at their backs. "What the hell is going on here?"
Doc paused in his pacing, arching an eyebrow. "You mean you do not know?"
Marty shook his head, irritated. "No! Jen's sitting on something, and she's not letting me in on it!"
Doc glanced at Jennifer, appearing puzzled, then resumed his pacing. "Why don't you explain what occurred, then," he said.
Jennifer nodded and took a deep breath. "Well," she began, slipping the paper with the strange dialogue out from her pocket, "Marty fell asleep while I was in the kitchen making popcorn before the video we were watching. Knowing all he's been through this week, I left him alone. About an hour into the movie, he started to talk in his sleep. I wrote all of what he said down." She looked at Marty for the first time, who stared at her blankly. "Did you know this?"
"No," Marty said in a low voice. "What did I say?"
Jennifer read aloud the words she had recorded on the paper. " 'No, no I can't do it. I'm not doing it. I can't. I can't get her for you, okay? Leave me alone. Please.....leave me alone and get on the boat. Go with your mother. Your doll will...will be fine. I can't be here....I can't do it. No!' " She paused, looking up from the paper at Marty. "And then you rolled off the couch and woke up."
"May I see the paper, Jennifer?" Doc asked. Jennifer passed it over to him, waiting for Marty's response as the scientist examined the words. Her boyfriend stood perfectly still, his face pale and a look in his eyes best described as haunted.
"Do you remember it now?" she asked.
"Sounds familiar," Marty whispered.
Doc reread the dialogue, a thoughtful frown on his face. He looked up after a moment, his eyes on Marty. "This would fit with what we learned of your dreams from the computer," he said. "I would be almost certain that these words are from your end of the conversation with this girl. Does that sound accurate?"
Marty nodded once. "I guess," he murmured, leaning heavily against the wall. Jennifer felt uneasy at the sight of him that way--he looked like was about to pass out.
"Marty, are you okay?" she asked anxiously, stepping over to put a hand on his arm. Marty looked at her a little coldly, shrugging her hand off him.
"No, Jennifer, I'm no okay," he muttered, stepping away from the wall to wander over to the other end of the room. "I wish to God you people would stop asking me that! Do you think anyone could be okay with these dreams? They're driving me insane! I swear, I can't handle this much longer. I just--I just can't," he finished, his voice dropping. Marty looked up at Doc. "Can't you do something? Knock me out with the sleep inducer, drug me up with something, take me to the future for a lobotomy?"
Jennifer would have chuckled at Marty's suggestions had they not been so serious. He stared at Doc with one of the most intense expressions of pleading that Jennifer had ever seen on anyone's face. She glanced over at the inventor, wondering how he was taking all this.
Doc stared back at Marty for a long moment, then looked down at the papers in his hand. He walked over to the worktable with the research spread across it, bracing his arms against the tabletop and staring down at the surface. He bit his lower lip, frowning hard, then finally looked up after a long, quiet moment.
"There is something that could stop the dreams," he said softly. "But it carries with it a tremendous amount of risk."
"Anything, Doc, I'll do anything to end these dreams!" Marty insisted. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it!"
Doc opened his mouth, closed it again, and went, "Hmmmmmm." He started to pace slowly beside the table. Marty looked like he was about ready to jump over there and throttle Doc when the scientist finally spoke.
"I've been examining the records and information regarding the Titanic. Now what I am about to propose may sound farfetched and terribly unscientific--"
"Christ, Doc, just say it!" Marty burst out.
Doc drew his lips together in a tight line, as if trying to hold back what he was about to say. "One potential solution to ending the dreams would be to go back in time to the Titanic and fetch this toy for the child."
Marty stared at him, taken aback. Jennifer couldn't stifle the gasp of pleasant surprise at Doc's words. "Oh, Dr. Brown, can I come along, too?" she blurted out before considering the words.
Doc glanced over at her for a moment, frowning faintly. "This would not be a trip of leisure, Jennifer."
"You want us....to go back....and be on the Titanic?" Marty said slowly, as if he didn't understand what Doc had said. "Are you crazy? That'd be like a death sentence!"
Doc shook his head. "No, not with what I planned out. We travel back to just after the ship strikes the iceberg--that way we'll be certain not to alter that aspect of the voyage." Doc shuddered. "If we did, the consequences could be disastrous in the extreme."
"And where do we park the DeLorean--in one of the life boats?" Marty asked.
Doc shook his head again, holding up his hand. "No, listen--I will 'park' the DeLorean in the air, leaving the hover conversion on. I'll have the HIS system activated, so none of the passengers will see it. We'll locate your family, which will be simple with the records available today, then you make sure that girl has her doll. That seems to me to be the reoccurring theme in the dream."
Marty looked skeptical. "How do you know this really happened?"
"I don't," Doc said. "As I mentioned before, it's a farfetched and radical idea. Extremely risky, too."
"Yeah," Marty said immediately. "The ship sank, Doc. That means we'll be going down with it!"
"Not necessarily, Marty," Jennifer said. "There were lifeboats sent away half empty in the beginning--"
"And under absolutely no circumstances can we use them," Doc interrupted firmly. "We cannot involve ourselves with that--no! The potential risk to alter time is far too great!"
"So what do we do--drown?" Marty asked dryly.
"We wouldn't drown," Jennifer murmured thoughtfully. "Hypothermia would set in before that."
"We will neither drown nor freeze," Doc said. "We will climb back into the idle DeLorean and depart as soon as possible. As soon as this girl receives her doll."
"Once again, Doc, what makes you think that doing this will stop the dreams?" Marty asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"It's one theory," Doc admitted. "And I won't deny that it's a quirky theory, at that. But this is an unusual situation. The fact that you are dreaming about something that is so historically accurate and so vivid for you...." Doc trailed off, looking down at the papers on his table. In Jennifer's eyes, the scientist looked quite uneasy.
"Doc, what are you getting at?" Marty asked, rolling his eyes.
"This is something that I cannot explain, if I am correct," Doc said slowly, eyes on the papers. "It's not scientific in any way that I can understand."
"Don't you believe in the supernatural, Doc?" Jennifer asked. "You'd be surprised how much stuff in this world is unexplained."
Doc smiled grimly. "I suppose so, yes. But it's hard for me to accept it."
"You didn't believe in love at first sight until you met Clara," Marty pointed out. "Face it, some stuff like that isn't believable until you've experienced it." He swallowed hard. "I'll do what you want me to do, Doc. I'll go back there. I like the idea about as much as I like getting involved with Tannens, but if it means ending these dreams, I'll do it."
"It may not, Marty," Doc warned. "I want you to be aware of that. If this fails to end the dreams, then we're back exactly where we started."
"But at least we would've known what didn't work," Marty said with a sigh.
Heart pounding as she listened to the conversation, Jennifer turned to Doc. "Doc, can I come with you both?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady with the question. "I know a lot about the Titanic, we're studying it in school now, and it would be so exciting and educational for me!"
Marty's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he regarded his girlfriend. "What happened to the vow of never time traveling again?" he asked, too surprised to tease with the question.
Jennifer ignored him, her eyes focused sharply on Doc. The scientist turned around slowly at the question, staring at Jennifer long and hard. She held her head up high through the scrutiny, looking him directly in the eyes.
"This is not going to be a long trip, nor is it going to be a trip of pleasure," Doc finally said. "This is strictly and utterly business--we board the ship, accomplish our mission, and leave as soon as we can. In a situation like this, one so famous in history, one wrong move could alter time irreconcilably."
"I understand," Jennifer said, realizing she was dangerously close to begging now. "But I could help you both, Doc. I know the layout of the ship, the timeline of the events! And I wouldn't do anything to change history," she added, her voice as serious as she could make it. "I know about the risks of small events changing things." Her little experience that originated from a trip to Woodstock with Marty was still too vivid in her mind!
Doc glanced sideways at Marty, who responded with a shrug. "If she wants to go, Doc, let her," he said. "This is the first time I've ever seen Jennifer interested in time travel!"
Doc sighed. "All right, Jennifer, you may accompany us. But you must listen to the instructions and not do anything foolish."
Jennifer couldn't hold back the wide grin that spilled over her face. "Oh, I won't, Doc!" she gushed, throwing her arms around the inventor in a quick hug. "Thank you so much! You don't know how much this means to me!"
Doc smiled back wanly, patting her on the back. "Well, it's always nice to see someone take an interest in history."
"We're just going there, doing what we have to, and getting out again," Marty said quickly. "Right, Doc?"
Doc nodded once. "Correct." He paused for a moment, thinking. "I think we'll leave tomorrow night. That should give me ample time to create a plan and locate some costumes fitting for the period."
"Better have us dressed nice," Jennifer said. "The first class people could go most anywhere they wanted, but not so with the other classes."
"Wait a minute, Doc," Marty said, frowning. "Why don't we leave now? Why do we have to wait another day?"
"Planning, Marty. This isn't like other trips we've taken--this one will require a great deal of planning and I don't intend to rush it. One careless move and we could all be in big trouble."
"But the sooner we go back, then the sooner I can get a decent night's sleep!" Marty said, his voice rising. "Why wait?"
"I'm not going to budge on this aspect of the trip, Marty," Doc said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll leave tomorrow night. You'll just have to wait another day."
Jennifer thought her boyfriend looked very much like a little kid, pouting because he wasn't getting his way. "Jeez, Doc, why didn't you just tell me about this when you were ready to leave, then?"
"I wasn't going to propose the idea until I was certain you were getting worse, not better," Doc said. "Jennifer's transcription proved that point."
Marty sighed, heading for the door. "Fine," he muttered. "I'm going home."
Jennifer wasn't ready to leave quite yet. She turned to Doc once Marty was out of the room. "Is there anything you need me to do before tomorrow night?"
Doc nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes." He gestured for her to join him at the work table. "I'm going to need you to locate the room where the Baines were staying. Then we need to figure out which lifeboat they were on and at approximately what time they got on the lifeboat."
Jennifer bit her lower lip at the assignment. "Sounds like a lot to find out in 24 hours."
"Well, if we both work on it, I'm certain we'll reach the answers," Doc said. "Now I do agree with you about the attire; looking as if we were wealthy socialites would be much better for us. I'll just need your measurements for your clothes by tomorrow morning."
Jennifer nodded. "All right." She grinned again, in spite of the hard work ahead of her. "This is going to be so much fun!"
Doc glanced up from the papers on his work table. "This is a job, Jennifer," he said. "I want you to understand the risks before we leave because right now, I don't think you do."
"I do, Doc," Jennifer said. "I wouldn't do anything to change history."
"Easy to say, harder to do," Doc said. He turned, giving her his full attention. "What would you do if you came across a child crying on this ship? A child who had been cowering behind ropes, or in a closet? Most people, wanting to do the right thing, would take this child to one of the lifeboats and get them in there. But you cannot!" Doc leaned forward, his eyes wide and intense. "It would change history. Possibly little, possibly a lot. The smallest threads can sometimes cause the most damage. Could you handle the temptation of assisting others? Could you resist such acts?"
Jennifer swallowed hard. When it was put into these terms, she suddenly felt uneasy and confused. "I--I could," she said softly. "It all sounds so cold, though...."
Doc smiled slightly. "The ability to time travel does not make us God, Jennifer. We do not have the choice if someone lives or dies--it's not our job. Though you may have the opportunity to avert such things with time travel, it is our responsibility to time and the universe that we do not abuse such privileges. The universe is not very forgiving. Marty and I have averted accidental disasters before, but that's not my idea of a pleasant trip. We've had to make choices just like the example I gave you. Sometimes what is right in the large scheme of things will not be right on a smaller scale and on a personal level. You have to remember that, especially when faced with a choice that could bring someone life or death."
Jennifer cocked her head to the side. "I sort of see that--"
"Good. Then--"
"--but Marty told me about how you met Clara. Didn't you save someone's life who was supposed to die?"
Doc winced visibly. "I did, yes," he admitted.
"Then you can't be sure that everyone who was supposed to die on that ship was really supposed to die," Jennifer said. "If God allowed you to invent time travel, then maybe He intended for you to use it to help others."
Doc rubbed his forehead. "Those are good questions," he said. "And I've spent many sleepless nights pondering those, and many like them. There are no easy answers, and the laws of science regarding time travel will sometimes contradict itself. Each situation is different. Just because my saving Clara from death did not unravel the universe does not mean you saving a theoretical crying child off Titanic will not. It's a risk I refuse to take and a responsibility I refuse to shoulder. I'm not God, Jennifer, and I refuse to play such a role, deciding who should live and who should die."
"Jennifer!"
Jennifer turned and saw Marty standing in the doorway, looking grumpy. "Are you ready to go yet?"
"All right, I'll be there in a minute." She looked to Doc. "I'll be careful," she promised softly. "Don't worry about me."
Doc managed a tired smile. "I'll telephone you tomorrow to see what you've come up with," he said.
"Okay." Jennifer hurried after Marty, feeling guilty for keeping him waiting so long.
"Sorry," she said as she got in the truck and slammed the door. Marty started it up, pulling out of the driveway.
"What were you and Doc talking about in there?"
"The trip," Jennifer said honestly. She smiled, touching his leg. "Aren't you excited about it?"
"Ask me later, when it's all over and Doc's theory about stopping the dreams turns out to be right."
A little more than twenty four hours later, Marty stood in Doc's lab, examining himself in a mirror set up nearby. "These clothes are going to be a bitch to wear," he complained, already tugging at the collar. "They're too starched!" Doc, attired similarly, pulled on a long, heavy coat. "It cannot be helped," he said. "If we were to dress differently, we would be forbidden on certain areas of the ship. There were some rumors that people from the lower classes of the ship were locked behind gates as it sunk and we certainly don't want to have that happen to us!" Marty frowned at his image in the mirror. There were too many layers to the clothes--long underwear, pressed slacks, a white button down shirt, suspenders, a vest, a black coat, and a black bow tie--not to mention the details such as the leather shoes a size too small, the silver cuff links, woolen socks, a pocket watch, a newsboy cap, and a long, heavy coat.
"No wonder people drowned if they wore this stuff," he said, trying to widen the tight collar. "It'd drag them right to the bottom of the ocean." "Drowning wasn't the cause of death in most of the instances," Doc said. "Hypothermia was. It was below freezing in the ocean and in the air at the time of the sinking." "Well, that makes me feel so much better," Marty said, sighing as he gave up the fight with his collar. He took off his hat and stuffed it in one of the coat pockets, frowning at his slicked back hairstyle that Doc was making him wear. Doc opened up the doors to the DeLorean, leaning inside. "How did you sleep last night?" he asked. "I didn't," Marty answered, irritated at the mere memory. "I stayed up all night watching TV and trying to do homework. I tried to sleep, but I just couldn't--and to make matters worse, I think I'm coming down with something." Doc leaned out of the DeLorean and looked at him. "Coming down with something?" he echoed. "Nothing serious," Marty assured him. "Just a cold, I think. A chest cold or something." He coughed softly into his hand, as if to hammer his point home. "It's nothing." Doc frowned. "A lack of sleep can make one more prone to illness. The immune system is weaker." "Yeah, well, it's not like I'm trying to stay up all night," Marty muttered. He scowled at his reflection, turning around. "This trip better work." "I cannot make any promises," Doc said, leaning back in the car. "This is a gamble, and don't ask me for any odds." Marty heard the familiar bleeps of the keypad as Doc was programming the time circuits. "I'm setting our destination for April 14, 1912 at 11:50PM. According to my research, the Titanic struck the iceberg at 11:40PM, therefore ensuring
that we'll be unable to alter that aspect of history. The ship will sink." Marty nodded impatiently, just wanting to get this whole thing over with. "What's taking Jennifer so long?" Marty's girlfriend had gone into the Brown house to change, with Clara to help her out with the elegant dress. It had been nearly twenty minutes since she had left. "I'm sure she'll be along shortly. Women's attire required much more work than men's at the time." Doc leaned out of the car, grabbing some loose notebook papers from the worktable, folding them, then slipping them in the pocket of his dinner jacket. "When she returns, I'm going to go over the plan with you both. It's going to be extremely important for us to not stray from this plan." Doc looked at him seriously. "If we all want to get off this ship alive and well, we have to stick to a very tight timeline." Their was a knock at the door of the lab. Doc went over to answer it, allowing Jennifer, closely followed by Clara, into the room. As he lay eyes on his girlfriend, Marty forgot for a moment about all the challenges at hand. Jennifer wore a short-sleeved long dark green dress, made of a velvety fabric, with shiny black beads sewn onto the material. The dress was fitted tightly at the chest and arms, a wide ribbon cinched under her bust, then dropped loosely down to her ankles. On her feet were heeled black shoes with shiny silver buckles. Her hair was curled, swept up loosely with a silver clip, a necklace in a Y-shape around her neck containing what looked like diamonds and some of those black beads. Matching earrings rested in her lobes. "Wow," Marty gasped. "Jen! You look awesome!" Jennifer beamed at him, curtsying. "Thanks," she said. "Sorry it took so long, but Clara was teaching me some society manners." At Doc's look of surprise, Clara shrugged modestly. "Well, Jennifer had asked, and I thought it might be helpful back there." "I never considered that idea--but I suppose it doesn't matter," Doc said. "We need to interact with the passengers on the ship as little as possible." "But if we do meet them, I'll be prepared with some basics," Jennifer said, smoothing out her dress. "Can we leave now, Dr. Brown?" "I'd like to go over some things with you first," Doc said. He gestured to a couple stools next to the tables. "Marty, Jennifer, take a seat." Clara touched his arm gently as the teens each took a stool. "Can I stay for this, Emmett?" Doc nodded. "Certainly. I have some instructions for you as well." Clara sat down a few feet away as Doc began to speak. "The Titanic hit the iceberg at precisely 11:40PM late Sunday, April 14, 1912. This is perhaps old news for you, Jennifer," Doc added, looking at her, "but I am recounting it for Marty's benefit." Jennifer nodded. Doc continued. "The precise point the iceberg impacted the ship was located at Latitude 41º46' North, Longitude 50º14' West--" "English, Doc," Marty requested immediately. "I've already got enough of a headache from no sleep." "I was getting to that, Marty," Doc said calmly. "The ship sank approximately 450 miles southwest off the coast of Newfoundland. It was moving 22.5 knots when it hit the iceberg. The berg, historians believe, tore a series of small holes into the iron side, popping the--" "Doc," Marty warned, allowing his chin to drop in his hand in a gesture of boredom. "Get to the point!" Doc sighed. "This information is all relevant, Marty," he said. "In fact, it's extremely important, for without it I could not pinpoint an exact destination to allow us to board the ship while it was at sea." He changed his tone back to the lecture mode. "The Titanic sunk at about 2:20AM--little more than two hours after the accident. Which means we will want to be safely in the DeLorean and far away by that point." "Perhaps before that," Jennifer said, a note of caution in her voice. "Oh, certainly. In fact, I don't want any of us on that ship past one AM. I think we'll have ample time to locate the Baines and give the child her doll before then." Doc pulled out the papers Marty had watched him stuff in his jacket. "With assistance from Jennifer, and a little bit of research in the future on my part, I discovered that an 'A. Baines' was staying with her two children on F-deck in room 112. I managed to get some maps of the Titanic and discovered this room is on the corridor, at the stern of the ship." Marty had no idea what his friend was talking about, though Jennifer nodded in understanding. "Hope you xeroxed some of those maps," Marty said. "I did," Doc said, taking a paper from the tabletop and passing it over to Marty. "I marked the room with a yellow highlighter." Marty looked at him skeptically for a moment, then accepted the paper and examined it. It still looked pretty confusing to him--none of the rooms had any numbers on them--but maybe things would fall more into place once he was there. "Okay," he said, folding the paper and slipping it into his jacket pocket. "I must warn you both that it's going to be quite chilly there," Doc said. "Right at freezing. I made certain that our clothes were made from a heavy material, though I'm certain you won't be as comfortable as Marty or I, Jennifer." Jennifer shrugged. "That's all right, Doc. A little cold never hurt anyone." "I have a coat she could wear, Emmett," Clara interrupted. "It dates from about ten years before your destination, but I believe it will still be in acceptable fashion." Doc thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "All right. Why don't you get it." While Clara departed, Doc began to outline their plan. "When we arrive, I am going to pull the DeLorean alongside the railing of the stern of the ship. The stern was the last part of the ship to sink, so if worst comes to worst and we are stuck on the Titanic longer than I am anticipating, we should still be able to get back to the DeLorean. I am going to be running the HIS system so that it resembles nothing. The night the Titanic sunk was clear, so the vehicle will look like a starry sky." "How will we find it again if it looks like nothing?" Marty asked, seeing it as a perfectly logical concern.
Doc pulled out a device from his pocket that looked like a pocket watch. He flipped the protective silver cover off the face, revealing a slick digital screen that was currently dark. "I anticipated such a problem and built this tracking device. The time vehicle emits a signal similar to radar when the HIS is activated that this picks up on, then displays the time machine as a big red X and us as a green dot. We shouldn't have any trouble relocating the DeLorean." Marty was a tiny bit skeptical, but shrugged regardless. "Interesting," he commented. Doc slipped the tracking device back in his pocket and started to pace before Marty and Jennifer, his hand to his mouth in an expression of thought. "Once we are on the ship, we will be free to split up. My only condition to this allowance is that we all meet back at the location where we entered the ship at precisely 1AM--no later. If any of you are not there, I am going to be extremely concerned. We cannot send out a search party for any missing persons on that ship. It will already be extremely chaotic on deck at that point. "Shortly after midnight, the captain of the ship--Captain Smith--will give orders to begin loading the lifeboats, though at that point people are so skeptical that the Titanic could sink that few heed the warning wisely." Doc shook his head with a sigh. "What do you want us to do once we're on the ship?" Jennifer asked. "I was just getting to that." Doc nodded to Marty. "I want you to begin to make your way down to F-deck and your ancestor's room. If they are still in the room, do not disturb them in any way. Do not interact with them. Allow them to leave the room on their own. Only when they have left it are you to enter and locate this doll." Doc paused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Are you certain that the room is where your great-aunt left the toy?" Marty thought hard for a moment, straining to remember through the fractured fragments of the dream. "I don't know," he finally said. "I guess I assumed it was there." "It's as good a place to look as any," Doc said after a moment's pause. "Once you have the doll, return to the deck immediately, then locate Josephine Baines and give her the doll." "What if I can't find her in time?" Marty asked. "Then hold onto the doll. Perhaps we can locate her in a lifeboat and give it to her there." Fat chance, Marty thought, but he kept his pessimism to himself. Doc turned to Jennifer. "You will accompany Marty down to retrieve the doll, as I believe you might know your way around the ship better than he will. Then you may split away from him and look for his ancestors. Once you locate them, follow them to keep an eye on them and search for Marty as well. Do you know what they look like?" Jennifer shook her head slowly. "Not really." Doc stopped at the work table and picked up the photograph that Marty had brought by a couple days before, showing his mother's father's family. "With the exception of the man, who was not on the Titanic, you need to search for these people." "They were third class?" Jennifer asked, examining the photograph carefully. "According to my research, yes." "I'm surprised they were able to get on a lifeboat, then, and survive," Jennifer said. She looked up at Doc. "Can I hold onto this?" Marty answered the question. "Sure, but be careful," he said, emphasizing the last word. "My mom might notice if it's missing." Clara returned to the lab, slightly out of breath, a coat made of black fabric draped over one arm. "Try this on, Jennifer," she said, passing it to Marty's girlfriend. "I think this will fit you all right." Jennifer accepted the coat, standing up and pulling it on. It was a little long on her, but otherwise fit well, cut in a more feminine style than the coats Marty and Doc had. The cuffs were trimmed in a black fur, adding to her appearance of wealth. "It's great, Clara," Jennifer said, smiling at Doc's wife. "Nice and warm. Thanks." Doc looked at his spouse as she sat back down. "Clara, the job I have in mind for you shouldn't be too difficult." Clara nodded. "What would that be?" "Have some hot beverages and a warm fire waiting for us. It was quite chilly on the Titanic the night of the sinking." "I can do that," Clara agreed. "When will you be back?" Doc considered the question for a moment. "How about twenty minutes after our departure." "All right." Doc stood still for a moment, frowning. "I think that's everything," he said finally. "All I can think of, anyhow." "What'll you be doing on the Titanic, Doc?" Marty asked. "I plan to stay on deck in the vicinity of the time machine, where you or Jennifer should be able to find me if there is a problem of any sort." Doc snapped his fingers sharply. "Oh! I almost forgot!" He darted over to the desk and scooped up three palm-sized yellow and black devices. "These are some radios we can used to stay in contact," he said, passing one out to Marty, and one to Jennifer. "I set it on the frequency we can use. They're small, lightweight, and waterproof." Marty examined it for a moment. It didn't look much different from walkie-talkies he was used to--just smaller and more streamlined. "Won't these be a little noticeable?" "It can't be helped--just be sure to use it discreetly and when you're unable to avoid it. I think it's best if we have some way of contacting one another at our disposal." Jennifer slipped Marty's photograph into the pocket of her coat, along with her radio. "We're meeting an hour after we arrive where we left the DeLorean?" she asked. Doc nodded vigorously. "Yes! That is extremely important." The scientist pulled a watch from his pocket and passed it to Jennifer. "Keep this on you at all times. When we reach our destination, I want us all to coordinate our clocks to the one in the DeLorean. We are dealing with a situation where mistiming could be fatal." Marty swallowed hard, around the dull ache in his throat. This trip was sounding more and more ominous to him. And Doc's not even sure it'll work, he thought glumly, wishing already that he hadn't allowed himself to be talked into such a fantastic plan. The time had passed, however, to speak up against it. One look at Jennifer's shining eyes thwarted that idea. He hadn't seen her want anything so badly in his life. The last thing he was going to do was be the bearer of disappointment. Clara stood as Doc glanced around the lab for any last minute items. "Be careful back there," she said, kissing him quickly on the cheek. Doc nodded, giving her a hug and a kiss in return. "You can bet on it," he said, glancing down at Clara for a moment as he spoke, then looked up at Marty and Jennifer. "We will all be extremely careful back there."
Jennifer craned her neck anxiously as soon as they arrived in the past time, straining to see out the windows to the darkness below. "Where's the ship, Doc?" she asked after a moment, leaning awkwardly across Marty to peer out the side passenger window. "It should be down there," Doc said calmly. "Easy to spot because it's so large and well- lit in all this darkness." Marty pointed at something nearly behind them. "I see lights," he said. "Turn around." Doc swung the car around in a large arc, downshifting as he did so. When they had turned a hundred and eighty degrees, Jennifer could see it--lights down below, still fairly far away but quite visible against the otherwise dark landscape below. She gasped softly, her heart pounding at the sight. "Oh my God," she murmured, grabbing Marty's arm. "It's the Titanic. It's really the Titanic!" "If it's not , then we're tremendously off course," Doc said. He increased the speed of the DeLorean, swooping it closer to the ocean. As they grew closer to the great ship, Jennifer noticed several huge, dark objects scattered about in the water. Icebergs, she realized, a cold chill crawling across her skin. She wondered which one of those had eventually sunk the Titanic. As they grew closer and closer to the object, Jennifer was able to see quite clearly that it was indeed the Titanic. She'd never before seen such a huge ship in her life. It was all lit up, an odd sight to see so far from land. The people that stood on its decks looked so tiny in comparison to everything else. The ship wasn't moving, and from her perspective did not yet appear to be sinking--but looks could be quite deceiving. "Can they see us, Doc?" Jennifer murmured, as they headed for the stern of the ship. "Nope," Doc said. He tapped the sun visor with a finger. "The HIS is activated. As far as those outside the DeLorean are concerned, we look just like more night sky." Doc frowned faintly. "Of course, there is the concern that the noise of the gasoline engine might attract attention...." "Better than a flying car of the future," Marty said, leaning back in the seat he shared with Jennifer. "The noises could always be written off as something to do with the ship, too." Doc nodded. "My thoughts exactly." He pulled to the very back of the ship, then stopped the DeLorean and turned off the engine. It hovered in the air, as still as it would be if it were parked on a street. "This is where we'll meet back," he said after a pause. "Everyone pull out your watches, now, and synch them to the digital clock...."
It took a bit of doing for Marty and Jennifer, both crammed tightly in the front seat, to get their watches out of their respective pockets. Doc had them wait until the clock had clicked to 11:56 before allowing them to set their own in motion. "Remember," he said as Marty opened the gullwing door. "Be back here no later than one in the morning!"
"I know," Marty said. "Don't worry about it." He stepped out of the car, jumping to the deck below, then turned to help Jennifer out. She looked around as she touched the deck, slightly amazed that no one was around. But it was lucky for them. As she turned to look at the DeLorean, she saw only what appeared to be the DeLorean's interior hanging in mid-air. It looked like a doorway to another reality. The outside of the time machine was completely invisible. "We better hope no one strolls by," Marty muttered to her as Doc climbed across the seats and out of the DeLorean. Jennifer nodded slowly, her eyes locked on the strange sight at the end of the ship. The scientist jumped to the deck, then turned around, stood on the bottom rung of the railing, and closed the door. There was absolutely no sign that the DeLorean was hovering where it was hovering. The illusion was so flawless that Jennifer felt distinctly uneasy staring at it. "Are you sure the DeLorean is still there, Dr. Brown?" she asked. "Absolutely," Doc said. "This is merely a visual illusion, a very high tech curtain concealing the DeLorean from view." "Well, it's very good...." Jennifer murmured. "We should get this show on the road," Marty said. "Which way do we head?" "Stairs," Jennifer said immediately. "If the room we need to get to is in the stern of the ship, we've just got to go down some stairs in this area." Marty pulled out the xeroxed map that Doc had given him. He glanced at it for only a moment before looking back at Doc, who had taken a seat on one of the benches nearby. "Where are some stairs here?" "Check the map," Doc said. "I don't have the ship's layout memorized. Or you could ask one of the workers on the ship. Be quick, though--you've got an hour." Marty nodded, walking away from the back of the ship. Jennifer kept her eyes open for signs or people. They hadn't gone far before seeing passengers on the ship, and when she caught sight of someone who was dressed in an apparent uniform, she didn't hesitate to stop him. "Excuse me, sir," she asked, touching his arm to draw his attention. "Where could we find stairs to the F-deck?" The man turned around, eyeing Jennifer and Marty. "There be some stairs near the second class smoking room," he said. "They will lead you down to the F-deck." "Thank you," Jennifer said, taking Marty's hand and pulling him with her before the man could ask them any questions. They went down a set of stairs to a lower level deck, finding more people as they grew further from the stern. "Where's the smoking room?" Marty asked. "Let me see the map," Jennifer said. Marty passed it to her and Jennifer paused for a moment to look at it. "It's ahead," she said. "Up those stairs and through that door up there." When they reached the said door, they found themselves in a very elegant alcove, a staircase in view. The walls were all paneled with wood, polished, some wicker furniture set up near a set of doors with an electric "smoking room" sign above. An elevator was set beside the stairs. A few people loitered in the area, talking in low voices. "Wow," Jennifer murmured, grinning as she looked around. "This is amazing! And this is only second class, too!" She sighed softly as Marty pulled her towards the stairs. "I hope we can look around a little before we leave."
"I just want to do what we have to and get the hell outta here," Marty said. He paused before descending down the stairs, coughing a little. Jennifer looked at him, concerned. "Are you okay?" Marty cleared his throat. "Just a cold," he said. "It's nothing--that's what happens when you can't sleep. C'mon, let's go." They hurried quickly, and Jennifer was pleased to see that her detective work was accurate. As they went down the stairs, she noticed they felt a little odd, not entirely even. Other people from below were hurrying up the stairs--not a great amount ,yet, and not looking very panicked. But no one else was going down. "There it is," Jennifer said, spotting a lit sign when they had gone down three flights. "F- deck. What was the room number we're looking for?" "Uh....I think it's on the map. Do you still have it?" "Yes." Jennifer had slipped it in her coat pocket. She pulled it out, stepping aside to allow a man and woman to pass. "It's room F-112, at the back of the ship." "All right.... Which way?" They were standing in a similar alcove like the one they had entered four floors above, yet this one was decorated in a plainer manner--there were no walls covered with dark wood panelling here, but painted shiny white. Their were doors bookending the stairs, leading to corridors. "Check the numbers over there," Jennifer said, moving to the right as Marty went to the left. She leaned inside for a moment, examining the doors she could see. "I see an 83, 85, 87...." "More of the same here," Marty said. "Let's just go where the numbers go higher." Jennifer joined her boyfriend at his side and they started their way back. Traveling became a little harder then--there were more people in the halls, and the halls were narrower. Voices babbling in different languages and with different accents flowed past Jennifer's ears as men, women, and children were heading towards the stairs. They wore a variety of clothes, some in pajamas, some fully dressed, and some in a mix. None of their attire was nearly as fancy as Jennifer or Marty's. Few people stared at them, however, too caught up with getting to the stairs. Yet their wasn't a panic in the air; everything was fairly calm and orderly. A few snatches of conversation caught Jennifer's ears.
"...says they're goin' be loadin' lifeboats soon! But surely tis a rumor...."
"...I heard the berg strike her, that I did! Knocked me outta bed...."
"...and Charles said there's floodin' below. She's taking on water, he says, and we might want to leave our rooms...." "Don't you worry, sweetie," a man crooned to a little girl, crying softly in his arms, as he passed Jennifer. "We'll be back in the room soon. Not the Lord Himself could harm the Titanic...."
Jennifer shook her head a fraction of an inch, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat. All these people! she thought. If only they knew how dire the situation was! They could get on some of those lifeboats that aren't even full! Jennifer grabbed Marty's arm. "Marty," she began. "No, Jennifer," Marty said without turning around, continuing to walk and examine the numbers on the doors. "Remember what Doc said. In and out. We can't do anything else." Jennifer bit her lip. "I know, but--" "Here it is--room 112." Marty stopped, seemingly oblivious to the people in the hallway passing by. Jennifer scooted as close to the wall as she could, trying to stay out of the way. "Are they still in there?" she asked when Marty made no move towards the door. "I don't know." "Why don't you knock, then?" "Because....well, what do I say?" Jennifer shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure you could come up with something." Marty looked at her and sighed. Jennifer pulled out her pocket watch and checked the time. "It's 12:10," she said. "We have 50 minutes left." Marty sighed again. He lifted his hand up and knocked on the door. After a moment's pause, it was answered by a woman. Marty took a step back, perhaps startled by the door opening, nearly ramming right into a young man hurrying down the corridor with his coat thrown over his shoulder. The woman was young, perhaps in her early or mid-twenties, with a head of light, curly brown hair pinned up. Her eyes were blue and wide, perhaps a little scared. She was fully dressed, her clothes clean but plain, and appeared in fact to be preparing to leave; her coat was on and a scarf was draped around her neck. "Yes?" she asked, her accent English. Marty stared at her, his face completely white, as if he was seeing a ghost. Jennifer looked at the woman's face, frowning faintly, trying to figure out why it looked familiar--and then she realized that same face was in the photograph in her pocket. This was Marty's great-grandmother, Anne Baines. Marty appeared unable to speak. Jennifer decided it was up to her to give the woman some reason why they were knocking on her door. "I'm sorry to bother you," she said, causing Anne Baines to jump slightly; Jennifer had been out of her line of vision. "But we, ah, we were on deck and the crew is trying to get everyone up there because they might be using the lifeboats, so we're, ah, we're telling people." Anne stared at her, face expressionless. There was a flicker of movement from behind, and a little girl with hair like her mother's peered around her mother's skirts. "Mommy, who are they?" she asked, looking shyly up at Jennifer. Anne gently pushed her daughter back. "They're passengers, Josephine. Help your brother with his coat, now." The girl retreated back in the room. "I was aware of the news," Anne said to Jennifer. "Thank you." She closed the door rather abruptly. Jennifer looked over at Marty, who was leaning heavily against the opposite wall. She'd never seen him so pale before, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Marty?" she asked. He blinked, nothing more. Jennifer snapped her fingers before his face. "Marty!" Marty blinked again, his eyes finally focusing on his girlfriend. "That was her," he whispered. "That was the woman in my dream! And that girl--Christ! She was the one who talked to me!" "They're your great-grandmother and great-aunt," Jennifer said. "Amazing." She had never encountered any ancestors before of anyone she knew. "But I saw them in my dream!" Marty went on in a low voice. "Do you know how creepy that feels! They're even wearing the same clothes!" "Guess it means we're in the right place, then," Jennifer said, nonplussed. She pressed herself up against the wall, allowing a family of five to pass. "We should wait somewhere else, Marty," she said when they had gone. "We're in a bad spot right here!" Marty nodded. "But we need to know when they leave their room," he said, following the crowds back the way they came. "Then we can wait near the stairs," Jennifer said, noticing a definite slope to the floor now. She swallowed hard as a sudden wave of claustrophobia came over her, realizing that they were trapped in the middle of a ship going down. "When they come, I'll follow them like Doc said, and you can get the doll," she said, already looking forward to getting into the fresh air. It was tough going getting to the stairs; a line of sorts had formed, mostly crowded with people from the opposite end of the ship. The voices that filled the air were showing the first signs of tension and nerves. Marty pulled Jennifer away from the stairs themselves and over to a couple chairs in the alcove, occupied by a few sleepy children. "If we stand here, we should be able to see them when they pass," Marty said, leaning against the wall. Jennifer checked the time again, her uneasiness increasing. 12:16. "Less than 45 minutes," she said softly. "Hope that they leave before then." "Relax, Jen," Marty sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the wall. "They looked like they were on their way." "Unless something happens to slow them down," Jennifer said. "Marty, are you sure you don't remember anything else from the dream? Anything that would let you know what time it was happening?" Marty sighed again. "No, it was night, people were freaking out, that was about it!" He coughed, wincing a little. Jennifer glanced at him, concerned, then was sidetracked by a influx of people that entered the area around the stairs. "There's water comin' in our rooms!" a young man announced, his voice carrying over the others in the room. His slacks were wet from the knees on down, and he held a bedroll over his head. "They're tryin' to get people in lifeboats!" another man announced, a padded white vest draped over one arm. Jennifer recognized it as one of the Titanic's lifevests. "They say she's goin' down!" The mood in the room promptly shifted from one of mild amusement and curiosity to one of increasing worry and panic. People were going up the stairs at a much more rapid pace now. Jennifer took a deep breath of the stuffy air, trying to stay calm herself. This is crazy, she thought. I know the timeline we've got, I know the ship isn't going to sink before 2:20AM--so why do I feel like I can't breathe down here? Just when she was about ready to go up the stairs herself, no matter if Anne and her children were there, their target in question suddenly appeared. She carried no bags, holding the hand of her daughter and cradling a small boy of about two in the other arm. The toddler-- Marty's grandfather, Sam--wasn't bothered much by all the people and noise around him. He was dozing on his mother's shoulder. Josephine, on the other hand, was all eyes as her mother dragged her through the crowds. "There they are," Marty said, spotting them just as Jennifer did. "You go follow them, I'll get this doll of hers." He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth. "Be careful!" "You bet," Jennifer said, returning the kiss. "I'll see you at one." She quickly joined the crowd at the stairs, her eyes set on the family from the past.
Marty watched his girlfriend disappear up the stairs, then turned and began to make his way through the people crowding the hallway. "Excuse me, pardon me, I'm sorry," Marty muttered under his breath as he accidentally stepped on feet and stumbled over small children. He nearly missed the room that Anne Baines had vacated, so intent he was in keeping his balance. The floor felt odd, and Marty felt as if he was treading up a very small grade.
Of course, he thought. The ship is sinking.
Pausing with his hand on the doorknob of room, Marty had the most unsettling thought-- what if the room is locked? A simple twist of the knob, however, put that fear to rest. The door opened easily. Marty stepped inside, found the light switch, and shut the door at his back.
The room wasn't much--two bunk beds set in opposite ends of the room and a sink set in the far wall. Not really sure of where to begin, Marty looked in the beds first, all unmade and appearing as if his ancestors had just risen from them. Nothing. He felt in the cracks between the bed frame and the wall, peering under the bed. Nothing--not even dust. He found a trunk, presumably of his great-grandmother's possessions, and looked through it. Clothes, a few apparent keepsakes such as photographs and books, but no doll.
"Shit!" Marty muttered, leaning against the wall as his eyes roamed the room, searching for another potential hiding place. He closed his eyes and strained his memory again, trying to recall if the Josephine he had seen in the dream had said anything about the actual location of the doll. He'd always assumed she had left it in the room--but was this because it seemed like a logical place, or because the girl had said as much?
"I can't remember!" Marty moaned, opening his eyes. He coughed again, a dull ache in his chest as he did so. This sucks, he thought. I feel like shit, I'm on the Titanic, and I have no idea what I'm looking for anymore!
It was enough to make one wish they were dreaming this entire episode.
After a minute of feeling sorry for himself, Marty finally came to the reluctant conclusion that the doll was not in this room--at least not that he could see. He pulled out the walkie-talkie from his pocket and depressed the button on the side? "Doc? Are you there?"
After a staticy pause, the scientist came on. "Marty? Is anything wrong?"
"I can't find the doll, that's what's wrong," Marty said, running a hand through his hair. "I'm in the room now. Jen's trailing the family. But I can't find the doll."
"Did you check everywhere in the room?"
"Yeah. I mean, there are only so many places you can hide a doll, and this room is really sparse."
"Well, then, perhaps she took it with her."
Marty sighed. "Why would she not have it with her if she brought it with her?"
"You would know better than I. Are you sure she didn't have the doll in your dreams?"
"Positive!"
"Really?"
Marty gritted his teeth, quickly getting frustrated. "Why would she want to go back for her doll if she had it with her?"
Another pause. "Well, perhaps she dropped it on the way to the deck," Doc said.
Marty closed his eyes, turning to rest his forehead against the bunk bed railing. The explanation was perfectly reasonable--and completely insane to contemplate. There are so many places a doll could hide! "That's a big assumption to make," he muttered. "What if you're wrong?"
"Unless the doll is in the room, is there anywhere else it could be?" Doc asked. "I would doubt that a child so attached to a toy would have the possession stowed away."
"So I should retrace the steps of Josephine and her family now?" Marty asked.
"That would appear to be the best course of action. But remember, you don't have much time! You and Jennifer are to be back here no later than one."
"I know, I know." Marty sighed deeply. "Christ, it's gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack."
"Then you'd better get going."
"All right. Over and out." Marty replaced the walkie-talkie in his coat pocket, then opened the door and stepped into the hall. People were going by in groups, almost all carrying some white, padded vests. As Marty joined the march to the stairway, a steward passed him one of those vests.
"The captain has ordered all to assemble on deck in their lifebelts," he explained quickly. "Merely a precaution, nothing more." The man was gone before Marty could say a word.
Precaution my ass, Marty thought. He wondered if less people would've died had the crew been more up front with them on the state of the ship. Then again, the Titanic had been considered indestructible. Perhaps it would've made no difference.
Marty passed his lifevest along to a child standing near him. He wouldn't need it; they would be long gone by the time the ship met its tragic end. As he walked closer to the stairs, he scanned the floor as fast as he could, trying to see past the people crowding the corridor. He didn't see any sign of the doll in the hallway.
Climbing up the stairs and searching proved to be harder, as more people were moving at a more rapid pace. Marty stayed close to the railing as he climbed, finding it easier to move more slowly on the sidelines. When he reached the deck level of the ship, Marty had had no sign of the toy. He looked around, searching for a sign of the Baines or Jennifer. It was almost impossible--there were tons of people milling around. To compound the matter, it was almost impossible to hear anything; the air was filled with a great hiss of steam being released from the smokestacks.
Marty swore softly. He pulled out the watch and looked at the time, realizing even as he did so that he really didn't want to know. It wasn't worth the stress.
It was 12:36AM.
Jennifer followed Anne and her kids at a safe distance as they went up the stairs. To her great surprise, the family did not go straight to the decks above but took a detour on C-deck. Interesting, Jennifer thought, wondering if Marty had known of the change. Somehow, she doubted it. From what she'd heard of his dreams, it appeared he had only seen and spoken to his ancestors on the deck of the ship. Not under it. What are they doing here? she wondered. Anne moved through the hallway slowly, pulling her daughter through the dozens of people loitering in what looked like an enclosed deck. Jennifer paused in her mission for a moment, unable to resist a glance outside through the large windows along the deck. The view was unspectacular--it looked dark and cold. Jennifer turned away from the glass and looked back at her quarry. She saw a glimpse of Anne's curly hair, then the woman vanished from view as she stepped through a doorway. Jennifer rushed after the family, her speed hindered by the people she dodged and her clunky high heeled shoes. Passing through the doorway, Jennifer found herself outside, on the lower level of the deck. She noticed the cold first, a chill that seemed low enough that snow could fall--if there had been any clouds above. The sky was clear, however, a breathtaking canopy of stars glittering overhead. Jennifer slipped her hands in her pockets, her breath exhaling in a frosted puffs before her face. She frowned, a vague sense of familiarity nagging at her as she paused for a moment, trying to figure it out. When Jennifer finally turned, recalling her reason for being out there, she realized she had crossed this deck earlier with Marty, on the way to the stairs. Since that time, more people had shown up on the deck. Many of them were in the same variety of dress or undress that Jennifer had spotted in the lower decks of the ship. Some appeared bored, others uneasy. Forget it, Parker, Jennifer told herself firmly, her eyes finally spotting Anne and her kids. You've got a job to do. Gawking could kill you and Doc and Marty if you're not careful. Taking a deep breath to drag the rest of her attention back to her job, Jennifer went after the Baines. They were mounting the stairs that Jennifer and Marty had ascended earlier, on their way to the upper decks. This deck, B-deck, contained the second class smoking room and the promenade decks of both second and first class, if she remembered correctly from her research. Jennifer dodged others on the steps in her pursuit, catching up with the family on the deck. Anne looked a little lost up here, turning her head and looking around in quick, nervous, movements. Jennifer wondered if she should speak to them at all, direct them to where the lifeboats were. Damn, she thought. Doc was right. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be! She hoped Marty was having better luck below, locating the toy. Jennifer suddenly remembered the small radio Doc had given her before they had left. She reached for her coat's pocket, her eyes remaining on the family as she did so. They hadn't noticed her presence. Jennifer pulled the radio out and examined it for a second, locating the power switch. She turned it on, then pressed the button on the side and brought the device close to her mouth to speak into it. "Hello?" she whispered, directly into the speaker. "Can anyone hear me?" Soft static was her only answer. Jennifer tried again. "Hello? Please answer if you hear this." "Jennifer? This is Doc." The scientist's voice cut through the static like a knife, causing Jennifer to jump and nearly drop the radio. "Where are you?" Jennifer looked up, trying to block as much of the radio from view as she could with her hand and her hair. "I'm still following the Baines. They're on the Bridge Deck--B-deck--near where Marty and I went to the stairs." Marty's voice came over the speakers. "What the hell are you doing over there?" Jennifer frowned for a moment, irritated at the tone in her boyfriend's voice. "I'm doing my job, Marty," she said, resisting the urge to snap back. She watched as Anne turned around and headed Jennifer's way. "Oh, cripes, they're coming towards me," she hissed. In one quick gesture, Jennifer twisted the volume all the way down on the radio and dropped it back in the pocket. Anne passed Jennifer to go down the stairs again. When she reached the C-deck, Jennifer right on her heels, she stopped a steward and exchanged a few words with him. The steward nodded briskly, then turned and began to walk back towards the enclosed deck, Anne and her children behind him. Jennifer followed at a distance of several feet, wondering where they were going now. The man led the small family and their unnoticed spy past the doors to the stairway that they had used to get to this deck from the bowels of the ship and through a door that opened to a hallway. The hallway was in very fine condition, the walls painted a gleaming white, elegant mouldings and patterns set in the wood. The floor was carpeted. This, Jennifer was sure, had to be the first class section. She gawked openly at the details in the hallway alone, at the small electric light fixtures set in the walls. It was all so elegant, all the painstaking details that had gone into this ship. I wonder what would've become of it if it hadn't sunk, Jennifer wondered wistfully as she trailed her fingertips lightly along the wall. Despite Doc's warning and her own knowledge of such things, she wished they could've prevented the ship from smashing into the iceberg. It was such a pity that all this would end up at the bottom of the ocean, hidden for decades. And all the lives that were lost.... They were in the hall for a long time, progress slowed by people crowding the corridor. The steward stopped frequently as passengers asked questions or appeared to need some sort of direction. The people around them now were of a much richer class, Jennifer could tell. Fur coats and impeccable attire was more visible than the hodgepodge of nightclothes and coats that she had seen outside and below decks. Although most of the people around them were busy with their own needs and concerns, Jennifer noticed a few--the women, particularly--were eyeing Anne with a slight unhappy twist to their mouth. Why, they're looking down on her just because of her dress! Jennifer realized, her cheeks flushing with anger. That's terrible! Absolutely terrible! Perhaps this time period wasn't as great as she had first thought. Jennifer drew a little closer to the group she was following, close enough to hear the steward say time and time again, as he moved slowly down the hall, "Please dress warmly, put your lifebelt on, and come to the boat deck."
Most of the people complied with little protest or questions. One woman, upon hearing this soft announcement from the doorway of her stateroom, laughed. "I'll be staying in my room, if it's all the same to you, sir," she said. "I don't think standing outside in the cold will help me much. Not when this ship is unsinkable." The steward persisted gently. "These are orders from Captain Smith himself, ma'am. Women and children are to board the lifeboats." The woman frowned faintly, but did not respond. She shut the door. Jennifer resisted a brief urge to push the door open and tell the woman that, if she didn't get herself in gear, she would be a lot colder floating in the Atlantic in a couple hours. But she did nothing, Doc's words echoing miserably in her head. "The ability to time travel does not make us God, Jennifer. We do not have the choice if someone lives or dies--it's not our job." "Maybe, but what if that one life could do so much good?" she whispered aloud. A few more women joined their group by the time they reached the end of the hall and stepped into a scene that made Jennifer gasp with delight and surprise. They were just across from the forward Grand Staircase, one of the most unique aspects of the ship. If it hadn't been for the people in the room wearing the white lifevests over their clothing, the scene would have been one of perfect Victorian elegance. The staircase was made from a dark wood, perhaps oak, elaborate and detailed carvings on the handrails and newel posts. Set under the railings themselves were cast iron loops, weaving around brass patterns. The chandeliers were trimmed with gold leaf, and the floor was covered in white tiles, some with black triangular patterns on them. The posts supporting the room's ceiling were made from the same material as the room's panelings and railings. The group Jennifer was with went straight to the stairs and began ascending them. Hardly anyone took notice of the room. Jennifer fell behind the crowd, dragging her feet worse than young Josephine as she struggled to look in a dozen different directions at once, trying to capture this view in her mind forever. She ran her thumb over the carvings on the handrail, feeling the rough edges that would never have the chance to be smoothed by generations of fingers doing the same. Everything old is new again, Jennifer thought, wondering where that line had come from. It applied itself quite well to the current circumstances. They reached the new floor, then continued up the stairs to A-deck. Jennifer's eyes grew wider still as they rounded the bannister to reach the next level of stairs leading to the boat deck. She had seen photographs of this precise point in some of the books she'd read. Jennifer had the strangest sensation of viewing a living, breathing photograph in full color. She felt almost as if she was watching a movie. Above the room and stairway was a large, wrought iron and glass domed skylight. One gold and crystal chandelier was positioned smack in the middle of the work of art above. She could see nothing but darkness beyond the glass. As Jennifer stared up at it all, she suddenly pictured cold seawater breaking over the glass, shattering it and washing inside, down the stairs, knocking people over like bowling pins.... Jennifer shuddered at the mental picture, her stomach twisting at the realization that a couple hours from now, the stairs she now stood on would be sinking towards the bottom of the Atlantic. She lowered her eyes from the skylight, back to the other objects in her room. A carved wooden cupid holding an electric torch light in his arms at the end of the middle railing on the stairs. Some of the elegant paintings hanging from the walls. The gorgeous panel set in the wall at the landing where two carved wooden figures dressed in Greek-looking robes and wings bordered a clock. Jennifer paused at the landing, all but forgetting her mission now, staring at that clock. She ran her fingers over the face of the timepiece, wishing with all her heart that Lookout Frederick Fleet had spotted the iceberg before it had been too late. So many little things.... Jennifer marveled. If anything had been done differently, this entire event wouldn't have happened. If only there had been binoculars in the crow's nest. If only the captain had taken the ice warnings seriously. If only he had slowed down a little.... Jennifer's eyes focused on the clock's hands. It was almost one in the morning. Less than two hours before-- Jennifer froze, her eyes widening as she remembered. "Oh my God!" she gasped. "We have to leave now!"