Something loud crackled through the air, exploding in a shower of sparks in the sky above the ship. Marty jumped at the gunshot-like sound, his heart pounding uncontrollably. He took a deep breath of the cold night air, attempting to steady himself, coughing hard as he exhaled. The cold air made it harder for him to breathe, the temperature feeling so painful on the back of his sore throat. People crowded the decks now. Marty wasn't sure where he was, exactly--Jennifer had taken the ship's map with her--but he thought he was somewhere near the back of the ship. He hadn't seen any sign yet of either his girlfriend or his mother's family, and transmissions to Jennifer via the radio had gone unanswered. Marty was feeling more than a little frustrated. His radio, tucked in the pocket of his jacket, crackled to life. "Marty, Jennifer, this is Doc. Please answer." Marty stepped over to one of the walls of the ship, his back to the people passing by. He pulled out the radio, holding it close to his mouth to speak. Although the deafening hissing of steam from the boilers had stopped, chatter from people and faint music from a band somewhere could make it difficult for the scientist to hear him. "This is Marty. What's up?" "You're supposed to be back here now!" Doc reminded him. "It's one in the morning--we have to leave." Marty checked the time, surprised to see that the Doc was right. "We can't leave yet," he said. "I still haven't found the doll!" "Marty, each minute more we stay on the ship, the more risk we are to history," Doc said. "Where is Jennifer?" "How should I know? We split up and I haven't seen her since. I keep trying to call her on the radio, and I get nothing. In fact, if she's hearing this right now she should be saying something!" "She probably turned her radio off," Doc guessed. Marty heard him sigh loudly through the speaker. "I'm going to see if I can locate her. When you find the doll or Jennifer, contact me immediately! I want to leave posthaste!" "Will do," Marty said. He slipped the radio away, then looked around again and sighed wearily. This is completely crazy, he thought. I don't even have an idea anymore where the hell Jen and Mom's relatives went! How can I look somewhere for something when I don't even know where to look?
The passage of time wasn't helping, either. Another flare burst in the sky overhead, and the people around Marty exclaimed over it. "Things must be serious if she's shooting off rockets!" "I can feel a real tilt to the deck now!" "They already put a few boats out on the sea! Look!" Marty had had enough of the outdoors. He was freezing. His hands were practically numb from the cold, and all this coughing was making his headache worse. He followed a few people to the interior of the ship, into what looked like a library of sorts, adjacent to the stairs that he and Jennifer had taken when they had first gotten on the ship. Marty took an empty seat in a corner of the room, almost oblivious to the people moving past him, and gave another go at contacting his girlfriend. "Jen? Jennifer? Jennifer, are you there? Answer if you hear me." The soft hiss of static was his only answer. Marty sighed. "Dammit, Jennifer, where are you?"
Jennifer couldn't return to Doc, not yet. She still had to figure out where the Baines were headed.
When she realized what time it was, Jennifer spun around and scanned the stairs for the party she had been following. They were nowhere to be found. She cursed softly under her breath, angry at herself for falling under the spell of this great ship.
"Great," she muttered. "You could've botched things up completely now, Parker!"
There were stairs going up still, on each side of her. Jennifer chose the left side, knowing that the boat deck was supposed to be the next level. When she reached the new level, a man grabbed her arm and began pulling her towards a doorway.
"Hey, what are you doing?!" Jennifer exclaimed, hitting the man's arm in quite an unladylike manner.
"They're loading women and children on the boats now," the man answered. He looked like he was about the same age as Jennifer's father, dressed in a suit like the other first class men. "You must hurry to get on the next one."
"No way!" Jennifer protested. "I'm not leaving this ship!"
The man ignored her, dragging her through a glass door and outside. Jennifer stopped struggling for a moment, her eyes widening at the events outside. There were several dozen people milling around on the deck, almost all of them appearing to be of the first or second class. The loud noise of steam she had last heard outside had stopped, and the faint sound of a band could be heard somewhere nearby, playing a cheery waltz tune. A few on the deck looked nervous, mostly the women, whereas the men were chuckling and smoking, as if nothing was amiss.
"No need to fear," Jennifer heard an older man say to a woman huddling close to him. "You'll just be in the lifeboat for an hour or so, until that ship comes over and picks us all up."
The ship he was speaking of, Jennifer realized, was the Californian, which had never answered the distress calls to the Titanic because that ship's wireless had been turned off for the night.
"I'd rather not spend an hour out there," the woman answered, shuddering under her fur coat and white lifebelt. "It's dreadfully dark and cold on the water!"
Jennifer was pushed over to a lifeboat that appeared to be ready to be lowered. Number 3, according to the numeral painted on her exterior. Anne and her kids were standing nearby, Josephine sobbing and tugging hard at her mom's hand.
"Mommy, my dolly, I left my dolly back there!" she said. "We can't leave, not without 'er!"
"I'm sorry, Josephine, but we've not the time," Anne said, her voice calm although her mouth twitched nervously. "T'was difficult to get up here, and we don't know where you dropped her."
"But I neeeed her!" Josephine wailed, causing a few passengers to glance over. Anne's cheeks flushed at the looks. Jennifer could practically read the thoughts of the passengers that surrounded them, almost all of them appearing well-to-do. Those poor steerage passengers, can't control their children. But what else can one expect from people who are struggling so much?
"We can find your doll when we return to the ship," Anne said in a low voice to her daughter, her eyes staring straight ahead at the dark horizon.
"But Daddy gave 'er to me! An' what if someone steps on her?" Josephine hiccuped, still crying. The toddler in Anne's arms, Marty's great-grandfather, Sam, was now awake and began to cry as well, perhaps in sympathy with his sister. "I wanna go back an' look for her!"
"Absolutely not!" Anne hissed, gripping her child's hand even tighter. Jennifer watched it all, the hairs prickling at the back of her neck.
This is so similar to Marty's dream! she realized. How strange....
Jennifer was jarred out of her thoughts by the man pushing her forward. "Here's another woman!" he called out to the crew members loading the boat. One nodded to her and held out his hand.
"Step aboard, miss," he said.
Jennifer immediately drew back. "I'm not getting on!" she said, her voice coming out in a near unnatural squeak. The very idea of sitting in one of those lifeboats in the cold ocean, away from Marty and Doc, was almost as bad as the idea of drowning. "I--I can't!"
The crew man lowered his voice. "Best to board now, miss. The Titanic is soon to flounder."
Jennifer shook her head, stepping back. "Uh uh, no way!" she said. "I'd rather stay here." She stepped away quickly, before she could be dragged in the boat.
The crew member looked back at the people on the deck. "Any more women and children?" he called.
Anne stepped forward immediately. "May I board?" she asked.
The man looked at her, then her two crying children, and nodded. A woman already in the lifeboat sneered slightly as the man took Sam from Anne's arms and placed him in the boat.
"They should be with their own people," Jennifer heard her mutter to a woman next to her. "They don't belong on this boat with us."
Anne heard the comments, her posture stiffening slightly. She let go of Josephine's hand and gently pushed her daughter toward's the man helping the passengers into the lifeboat. Josephine had no interest in boarding the boat, however. As soon as her mother let her go and before the man could take her arm, the girl turned and started to run.
"Josephine!" Anne exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Josephine Marie, stop!"
Josephine dodged passengers, a fast little girl, but not fast enough for one young man of about fifteen, who grabbed hold of her arm and stopped her. He was nearly pulled over by the force of Josephine's speed. "Whoa, there," he said, dragging her back to the lifeboat.
"No, no, no, no!" Josephine screamed, her face growing bright red from the effort of her shrieks. Jennifer winced at the piercing sound, wondering if the girl could be heard all over the ship. Wearing a pained expression on his face, the crew member grabbed a squirming Josephine under the arms and dropped her in the boat. Before she could scramble out, her mother stepped in and immediately hugged her daughter tight--more to keep her inside the boat and from disturbing other passengers than to comfort her.
The girl stopped fighting, realizing the inevitable, and cried loudly as the crew prepared to lower the boat to the ocean below, some fifty feet below. As it began to descend in fits and starts, Jennifer was suddenly grabbed from behind and lifted up over the railing.
"Wait! Here's another woman!" someone cried. Jennifer couldn't even vocalize a reply before she was suddenly thrown roughly into the lowering boat. Her back slammed painfully against someone's knee, then she rolled right onto the floor of the craft. It swayed back and forth slowly, lazily, like a hammock.
Jennifer wasted no time in sitting up and looking up to the boat deck of the Titanic, receding slowly. "I already told you, I don't want to be on this!" she exclaimed, a little frightened by this unexpected turn of events.
Those above didn't answer to her protest. An older woman patted Jennifer's back. "It's all right, honey. We'll be able to come back soon. Don't worry."
"That's not the point!" Jennifer muttered. She eyed the distance between the lifeboat and the Titanic. The men above were lowering the craft slowly. Jennifer crawled to the edge and, before she could lose her nerve, jumped forward, arms stretched towards one of the large promenade deck windows that was opened. The people on the lifeboat gasped at the feat. Jennifer hung in the air for what felt like a long moment before her hands grasped the windowsill. The rest of her body hit the side of the ship with a heavy, hard thud.
"Ow," she gasped, unable to say much else. She tried to pull herself up, but her shoes were unable to get a grip on the smooth iron sides. I'm stuck! she thought, her eyes wide--just as strong hands encircled her wrists and hauled her through the window.
Jennifer landed on the floor in an ungraceful heap. A young man around her age or a little older grinned widely at her as she struggled to her feet and attempted to smooth out her dress and her nerves. Funny how her heart was pounding so hard now, once the immediate danger was past.
"That was quite a maneuver," the young man said in a completely American accent, still grinning. "You have a lot of guts."
"It's their fault," Jennifer said, fuming even as she shook slightly on her feet. "I told them I wasn't going to go!" She looked up, realizing he was the person who had pulled her back onto the boat. "Thanks for giving me a hand."
The young man shrugged modestly. He was dressed nicely, in a white shirt, grey vest, and black slacks. He picked up an overcoat from the ground, shaking it out. Jennifer estimated he was from first or second class. "It wasn't nothing. But why were you so anxious to get back on the Titanic?"
"I have my reasons," Jennifer said elusively. When her rescuer stared at her quizzically, Jennifer quickly added the most logical and most believed argument at the time. "Why spend time freezing on a rowboat when everyone knows that the Titanic is unsinkable?"
"Perhaps not," the young man said. "I've heard some of the crew saying she's going down, but fast."
Jennifer decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat. This was one of the longest times she had spent with someone from the Titanic who wasn't out in a lifeboat right now--and knowing what she did about the next few hours, Jennifer preferred it that way. "Yes, well, ah, thank you for helping me Mr., ah--"
"McCoy," the young man said. "Peter McCoy." He looked at Jennifer's hand as she stretched one out to shake his. Peter sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. "Does that hurt?"
Jennifer looked down at her right hand. A large cut was drawn across her palm, blood oozing to the surface and dripping to the deck below. "Oh no!" she gasped, surprised. She looked at her left hand and found a similar injury, though this one wasn't bleeding at all, just scratched. "I didn't even notice."
Peter took her wrist and pulled her away from the railing. "Let me help you clean that up," he said. "You don't want to get it on your dress."
Alarmed by those words, Jennifer glanced down and cautiously drew the edge of her coat back a few inches, checking the garment underneath it for stains. Thankfully, there were none. She let the coat drop back, held her hands palms up, and allowed Peter to lead her into the ship, past the Grand Staircase on B-deck, and through one of the crowded hallways. The young man darted into a bathroom for a moment and returned with a handkerchief in hand, wet with water from the sink.
"Here, let me wrap this around your hand," he said. Jennifer allowed him to take her right hand and slowly, gently, wind the damp handkerchief around the cut. The injury began to ache with a dull throb when he had finished, the first pain she really felt from it.
"Thank you," she said. "That was very kind."
Peter smiled shyly. Jennifer couldn't help smiling back. Now that she could get a better look at him under electric lights, she realized her rescuer was really quite attractive. Blue eyes, short, curly blond hair, broad shoulders, wonderfully straight, white teeth. And he had these little lines around his eyes when he smiled that were really--
Jennifer halted that train of thought right there. What the heck are you doing? she thought. You can't check him out--you're dating Marty!
"It wasn't any trouble," he said. "Just tell me your name, and we'll call it even."
Jennifer hesitated, then figured there was really no harm in that. "Jennifer Parker," she said.
"Well, Miss Parker, where are you from?"
"California," Jennifer said, tearing her eyes away from Peter's. "Listen, Mr. McCoy--"
"Peter, please," the young man insisted.
Jennifer tried again. "Peter, thanks so much for your help. But I really, really have to go now. I was supposed to meet up with some friends at one, and they're going to be worried sick about me!"
"Let me walk you there," Peter said. "It's getting a little crazy right now. You might need my help again."
Jennifer hesitated once more, uncomfortable by the idea for some reason--and not because she found Peter's face so nice to look at. "Oh, I can't let you do that," she said, waving her hand. "You might need to rescue some other damsel in distress."
Peter chuckled. "You're the first one I've ever come across. Please, let me at least make sure you reach your friends. I can't relax not knowing that my first 'damsel in distress' isn't yet out of distress."
Jennifer couldn't help smiling, a warm flush coloring her cheeks. You know, I think he might like me, she realized, trying to ignore that nagging voice of guilt in her mind. "Okay," she agreed. "You can come with me--but I'm going to have to ditch you the moment I find them! You're not going to be stuck on this ship on the count of me."
Doc Brown wasn't quiet sure where to start his search for Jennifer. When he had last spoken to her, she had mentioned she was on B-deck--but precisely where, and if that location was still accurate, remained to be seen.
The scientist left his post at the very back of the ship and slowly made his way forward. There were a lot of people on the deck now, most wandering around as if they had no idea what they were supposed to do or where they were supposed to be. Doc took a photocopy of the ship's layout from his pocket and squinted at the shrunken images on the paper. The boat deck, where passengers would board the lifeboats, seemed like a logical place to start. It appeared to Doc that there was only one way to get there--by the forward Grand Staircase.
That decided, Doc pulled his radio from his overcoat pocket and sent out a new message. "This is Doc," he said, starting his trip across the ship. "Marty, Jennifer, please respond."
Marty came on a moment later. "What's up?"
"I'm heading towards the front of the deck, to the stairs that will take me to the boat deck," Doc said, able to conceal the bulk of the radio from sight in his hand as he walked. "If your ancestors survived the sinking, they had to have gotten on a lifeboat, therefore Jennifer should be there."
"Are you sure it's safe up there?" Marty asked.
"I don't believe the boat deck or the staircase was flooded for another hour," Doc said, his voice low so passerbyers couldn't hear that. He paused. "Where are you right now?"
"A library, I think. It was cold outside and I didn't really see the point spending any more time out there, not knowing where I needed to go."
"All right," Doc said. "Why don't you meet me on the boat deck next to the gymnasium?"
"The what?"
"They gymnasium. Do you still have the map I gave you?"
"No, Jen's got it."
"Hmmm." Doc thought for a moment, glancing at his immediate surroundings, trying to discern where he was. "Which library are you in?"
"The one next to the stairs Jennifer and I took to go down to the floor where Mom's relatives were."
"Do you know what deck that is on?"
"Uhhhhh, I think I saw a sign near the stairs. C-deck?"
"All right, I'll meet you there, then," Doc said. "Keep an eye out for me." He put his radio away and entered the enclosed second class promenade. A minute later, after stepping his way around increasing crowds, Doc entered the library Marty had spoken of. The teenager spotted him before Doc had the chance to, coming up from behind and causing the scientist to jump a good six inches at the sound of his voice.
"How much time do we have?" he asked, sounding distinctly nervous. "Maybe its just me, but I feel a definite tilt to the floor now. And practically everyone is wearing or carrying those lifevests now!"
Doc looked at his watch. "The ship goes under at 2:20AM," he said in a low voice. "It's currently 1:16AM. We have less than an hour to get off without problems--less than half an hour, really."
Marty sighed. Doc noticed with a touch of concern that his friend's face was rather pale. "Are you feeling all right?" he couldn't help asking.
Marty shrugged, the gesture halfhearted. "I'm really tired, Doc," he said. "And I'm fighting a cold or something. And, to be perfectly honest, I'm not really comfortable here. I feel like we're walking in a graveyard or something."
"We are," Doc said, agreeing with Marty wholeheartedly on that sensation. "I don't like spending any more time here than we need to. But we must locate Jennifer before we can leave."
"Definitely," Marty agreed without hesitation. "And that doll."
Doc slipped his watch back in his pocket and started out of the room. He moved past the stairs, towards the exit that would lead to the enclosed deck, which, in turn, would lead to the first class entrance and hallway that Doc intended to cut through to reach the Grand Staircase and boat deck.
"I don't want to disappoint you, Marty, but that doll is now one of our lowest priorities," Doc said, dodging a stewardess hurrying past. "This ship is going down quickly now, and I will not risk any of our lives in a search for the proverbial needle in a haystack."
Marty frowned, folding his arms across his chest as he followed the inventor. "I thought that's why we came here!"
"It was, but we've had a few unforeseen circumstances," Doc said. "Perhaps I was wrong, anyhow. Maybe locating that toy would do nothing to cure you of your dreams."
Marty's eyes grew haunted at that reminder. "I wouldn't've come along unless I thought you were right, Doc," he said in a low voice.
"If you still have the dreams when we return, there are a few other things we could try," Doc said, stretching the truth a bit. In fact, he was drawing blanks on that. Marty knew he was fibbing--after all, he knew the great risk they were taking being on this very famous ship as it was sinking--but he didn't say anything, just nodding instead.
It was slow going through the first class corridor, which was filled with many finely dressed men and women--mostly men--who were moving in and out of their staterooms, arms filled with the lifevests, coats, blankets, and a few valuables. Despite the increasingly desperate situation on the ship, people spoke in low voices and no one appeared to be panicking.
About halfway through the corridor, by Doc's estimation, a man in an obvious hurry pushed his way past Doc, then Marty following behind. The teen, his head down and eyes on the floor, didn't see the man's approach as Doc had and fell into the wall, where he lost his balance and slid down to the floor. Doc immediately went to Marty's side.
"You all right?"
"I'm fine," Marty said, sounding a little dazed. "Jeez, people should watch where they're go--" He stopped suddenly, eyes widening, then suddenly dove forward to the other side of the hall, nearly tripping a couple passing by. They stepped over him, plainly irritated.
"Marty, what--" Doc began. His friend straightened up, kneeling, and held up something in one hand.
"Check this out!" he exclaimed. "Jackpot?"
Marty held a six-inch porcelain doll in his hand. The doll had brown hair, fixed in long sausage curls, with big blue eyes framed by long eyelashes. The toy was dressed in a dark green dress, trimmed in lace, with a matching ribbon in the hair. The doll had obviously had a lot of love; the edges of the dress were worn and a little ragged, the hair tousled, the rosy cheeks smeared with tiny fingerprints.
"Do you think--" Marty began, standing up. He was interrupted by a fit of strong coughing that made Doc narrow his eyes in concern. "Do you think this is it?" he said a minute later, a little breathless. "That this is Josephine's doll?"
Doc stepped to one side of the hall, trying to stay out of the way of the people passing by. "Perhaps," he allowed, taking the toy and examining it for a moment. "I would hold onto it, anyhow."
"Of course!" Marty agreed, as if he couldn't imagine otherwise. He took the doll from Doc and slipped it in his coat pocket, buttoning the flap over it to ensure it would not fall out.
Doc Brown started forward again in the direction of the Grand Staircase and boat deck, aware of the time slipping by. "Come on, we've got to go. The sooner we locate Jennifer now, the sooner we can leave!"
"Can't come soon enough for me, now!" Marty said, trotting to keep up with Doc's long- legged pace.
Less than an hour now remained before the Titanic would vanish under the surface of the Atlantic. Jennifer felt that pressure bearing down on her now as she hurried to reach the stern of the ship, Peter McCoy beside her. Their progress was maddeningly slow. So many people now crowded the decks, stairs, and halls that one could not travel very rapidly unless they were willing to shove people out of the way--something Jennifer didn't want to do. So intent was she on reaching the stern that she hardly noticed Peter taking hold of her uninjured hand in an effort to not be separated from her in the crowds. "This is crazy!" she couldn't help exclaiming when they finally reached the outdoor promenade on B-deck, their goal in sight. "I can't believe all the people on this ship." "Well, she does have twenty two hundred on board," Peter said, his voice strangely serious. "And I've a feeling that there aren't enough lifeboats on board." "There aren't," Jennifer said quickly, suddenly feeling guilty with her complaint. "There weren't enough for half, and the boats aren't even going out filled." "I hope that steamer reaches us in time, then," Peter said, pointing to lights on the horizon. Jennifer hadn't really noticed them before, although they had been mentioned back on the boat deck, but she knew exactly what they were and that the ship in sight wouldn't come at all. "The Californian," she said without thinking about it. "But they turned off their wireless and don't know the ship is going down." Peter turned his head to regard her with amazement. "What?" he asked. "How do you know such things?" Jennifer immediately noticed her mistake. "Oh, I was just guessing," she finished vaguely. She pulled her hand from Peter's and increased her speed to the stern, running now and dodging people in her haste. Jennifer almost tripped a few times, slipping on the hem of her dress under her shoes, but she would catch herself just in time. When she reached the stern, however, neither Doc nor Marty was no where to be seen. Wondering if they were indeed there but the crowds on the stern section were too distracting, Jennifer found some stairs to the docking bridge and made her way up there. Additional height over the crowd below, however, made no difference. As far as she could tell, the scientist and her boyfriend were gone. "Oh, no!" Jennifer whispered. "They didn't leave without me, did they?" The idea was ludicrous. Marty and Doc wouldn't leave her on a sinking ship in the past....but where were they? It was then she realized she could find that answer out quite easily. Jennifer's hands flew to her pocket, where the radio was stored. She pulled it out and for one terrible moment thought the device was dead. No sound, not even the faint one of static, could be heard. Then she recalled turning the volume all the way down, back perhaps an hour before. Jennifer located the volume button, thumbed it up, and depressed the button to speak. "Hello?" she called softly. "Can anyone hear this?" No answer. She tried again after a minute, her eyes on Peter as he reached the very back of the ship, standing next to the railing. He looked up at her and smiled. Jennifer quickly turned her head, worried that he would see the futuristic device. Oh, God, she couldn't help thinking. What am I going to do with Peter McCoy now?
Marty's jaw dropped slightly as he and Doc left the first class hallway and entered a large lobby-like room. A huge staircase, with elaborately carved bannisters and railings sculpted in swirling patterns, was the room's main center piece. It blew his mind that something like this was on a ship, even a ship like the Titanic.
"Wow," he said, plainly awed. Doc paused for a moment at the edge of the room, looking at the staircase with his own expression of scrutiny.
"Yes," he said. "The detail and decorum was amazing for it's time. To think that the only people who really got to see and experience it were on this voyage...." He shook his head and sighed. "It's so tragic."
"Where's this boat deck we need to get to?" Marty asked, reminding his friend of the reason that they were standing there.
"Up these stairs for a couple floors," Doc said, leading the way. Marty looked around as they climbed, noticing all the elegantly dressed passengers with blankets and lifebelts on. He looked over the railing, down, and a couple floors below them saw something that nearly caused his heart to stop beating for a moment. Cold chills snaked across his skin.
"Doc, look!" he exclaimed, grabbing the scientist's arm and pulling him over to the railing. Marty pointed down, to the green water of the Atlantic below. It had flooded enough to cause the furniture to float freely around.
"That looks like it might be down near D-deck," Doc said grimly as he surveyed it. "We're running out of time. Come on, let's go!"
They reached a new deck, then circled around to ascend another flight of stairs--by far the most elaborate Marty had seen. This one had a carved wooden cupid set at the bottom of the middle railing, clutching an electric torch light. On the landing, elaborately carved figures boarded a clock set in the wall.
As they started up this flight of stairs, they passed a couple of well-dressed men, one decked out in a tuxedo and top hat. One looked a little older than Marty, the other was probably between 40 or 50 years in age. A steward was speaking to the older of the two men as they went by.
"Please take one of the lifebelts, Mr. Guggenheim, sir," the man said, holding out one of the white padded vests.
The finely dressed man shook his head. "We've dressed in our best and are prepared to go down like gentlemen," he explained. "Give our lifebelts to the women."
"Benjamin Guggenheim," Doc muttered as they reached the landing, elegantly carved figures framing a clock in the wall. He sounded suitably impressed. "He was one of the Edwardian upper crust. We've just been privy to one of the most famous statements uttered in this incident, Marty."
Marty could've cared less. "Doc, remember the water," he said. "Let's get to the boat deck."
The deck in question was reached a minute later. So many people were crowded on it that Marty found it difficult to see much, let alone locate Jennifer. People were in every state of dress, some carrying suitcases or children, other with nothing on them but the clothes on their back. The air was filled with the chatter and shouting of human voices, cheery waltz music from a band nearby adding to the surrealness of the situation.
Doc led Marty up the slope of the deck, towards the stern, at a rapid pace. Marty was utterly disoriented by the noise and people, not even sure this was the boat deck. When he and Doc were almost at the rear funnel of the ship, a sharp, crackling noise split the air. Marty jumped, his mouth suddenly dry. That was a gunshot, he was positive.
"Back!" a man's voice shouted over the stunned gasps the crowd was emitting. "I'll shoot any man who dare jump on 'er! Any more people will buckle the lifeboat!"
Marty managed to push his way through the crowd, getting to where the action was appearing to originate. He saw a group of men slowly backing away from the railing as a lifeboat crammed full of people was slowly lowered to the ocean below, in fits and starts. The drop to the water, Marty noticed with a touch of fearful awe, was slowly lessening with each passing minute.
The boat being lowered--a number of 14 painted on her sides--suddenly stopped with the stern suspended five feet over the water and the bow touching the ocean. One man crawled over to the ropes that had lowered the lifeboat and began to saw at them with a knife. The boat suddenly dropped the rest of the way to the ocean, several women shrieking at the sudden movement.
"Shut up!" a man snapped from down in the boat, his navy blue coat and cap indicating that he was one of the Titanic crew members.
"Marty!" Doc said, finally joining the teenager. "What are you doing?"
Marty stepped away from the edge of the crowd. "I wanted to see what was happening," he explained. "How are we supposed to find Jennifer in this zoo?"
Doc frowned, obviously unhappy by the chaos around them. "I don't know," he said. "I don't think we should split up, however. The confusion will continue to increase from this point on."
Marty exhaled sharply, frustrated, the unconscious gesture causing another coughing fit. Doc eyed him with concern but said nothing. Marty waited until he'd caught his breath again before asking his burning question. "What do we do, then?"
"We can attempt another transmission with the radio and see if she picks that up," Doc said. "If that's still a dead end, then I believe our best course of action will be to return to the ship's stern, as that was our default point. She should know to return there, eventually."
Marty followed Doc through the crowd, now pressing over to board the lifeboat next to the empty davits of the recently lowered number 14. The scientist stopped in a darker corner of the ship, pulling out his radio and preparing to speak into it. He stopped suddenly, his brow creasing, and held the speaker close to his ear. Marty immediately assumed the worst.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is it broken now?"
Doc shook his head slowly, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. "No," he said. "It's Jennifer."
Jennifer tried not to panic as she repeated her increasingly desperate message into the radio. "Please come in. Marty? Dr. Brown? Please come in, this is Jennifer."
Suddenly, the empty sound of static was broken by a human voice. "This is Doc, Jennifer. Where are you?"
Jennifer's knees grew weak with relief. She leaned back against the railing of the docking bridge. "Oh, Doc, thank God! I thought you'd left! I'm at the stern of the ship now. I thought we were supposed to meet here at one."
"We were," Doc replied. "But you did not show up and Marty became concerned--"
There was a scuffling from the other end, then Marty's voice came on. "Where were you, Jen? We kept trying to call you on this thing!"
"I turned the volume all the way down," Jennifer said. "I'm sorry, I just forgot about the radio for a while. I was put on a lifeboat and--"
Another scuffle from the other end. "Never mind that, now," Doc said. "Stay put. Marty and I are on the boat deck right now, but we will be there as soon as we can. We have to leave this ship immediately."
"All right," Jennifer agreed, never thinking to ask where the two were on this ship. She put the radio back in her coat pocket, leaving it on and volume all the way up, then hurried down from the balcony above the poop deck. The increasing tilt of the deck felt most unnerving up there.
Peter met her at the bottom of the stairs, walking with her as she headed for the railing at the very back of the ship. "Have you had any luck finding your friends?" he asked.
Jennifer nodded. "Yes, they're on their way from the boat deck. They thought something had happened to me."
The young man gave her another strange look. "How would you know such a thing?"
Jennifer didn't quite know how to answer that one. "Oh....I saw them up there and....I'm pretty sure that's what they thought," she managed, deciding it was the perfect time to change the subject. "Anyway, I'll be fine right here until they arrive," she said. "You should go now, try to get on a lifeboat."
Peter looked at her as if the idea was absurd. "They're only allowing women and children to board now," he said. "It's the oldest law of the sea."
"Some men got to board," Jennifer said. "They needed them to row the boats. I'm sure you can get on one if you try."
"Not until I make sure you are all right," Peter insisted. "My responsibility to you does not end until your friends arrive."
Jennifer sighed softly, wishing that she wasn't rescued by someone so stubborn. Although, she had to admit, a part of her was flattered by his concern for a virtual stranger. "All right," she agreed. "But the second they come, you've got to leave! I won't have your death on my conscious from you waiting too long on this ship!"
"Don't worry about me," he said. "I've only myself to worry about now."
Jennifer looked at him with concern. "Oh no! I'm sorry. Are you without family?"
"Not entirely. Actually, I'm returning home to them on this ship. I was visiting some of my father's relatives in Ireland for a year."
"Wow," Jennifer said, impressed. "Where are you from in America?"
Peter leaned back against the railing, looking up at the dark sky. "Oh, that would be a long story. I was born in Ohio in 1890, but my parents moved away from there when I was a baby. My father was a banker and received word on a better job in the West. So we moved there when I wasn't even a year old yet. I spent some time in northern California for a while before we moved again, to Oregon, and then finally settled in Washington state."
"Northern California," Jennifer said. "Hill Valley is in that direction." Her hand clamped down on her mouth a moment later--a moment too late.
"Hill Valley?" Peter echoed. "Is that where you are from?"
Jennifer nodded slowly. "Yes," she admitted. "Have you heard of it?"
Peter frowned. "I think I have. Is it near Grass Valley?"
Jennifer nodded. "Yeah, it is. About twelve miles east of it."
"We lived in Grass Valley for a few years," Peter said. "I never saw your town, however." He smiled at her, the expression visible in the semi-darkness. Jennifer managed a smile back, then glanced away from his face, unable to look at him any longer. Her previous discomfort about finding him attractive wasn't worrying her so much, but the idea of getting to know someone who was likely going to perish in the Titanic was.
Don't think it, Jen, she thought. You can't save him, if he died in this before. You can't! You're not allowed!
"So you've family you're returning to," she said softly, while a voice inside whispered for her to leave it at that. But Jennifer couldn't stop asking questions. "Why did you spend some time in Ireland?"
"I'm a writer," Peter answered. "I thought traveling would help me out with my craft."
"What do you write?"
"Novels. I've not made much money on it so far, but I have sold a couple short stories to some literary magazines." Peter smiled again, glancing up at the sky again. "I don't really do it for the money. That's not what's important to me. It's what I get out of the experience that's really meaningful."
"My boyfriend's father is a writer," Jennifer said without thinking of it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter stiffen slightly, his smile faltering for a moment. "He's become pretty successful in the last few years. But I know he spent ages working at it."
Peter cleared his throat. "I would like to be successful someday," he said. "I can't lie and say that doesn't matter to me. To be able to write and only write and to be able to earn money that way is definitely a goal of mine."
"If you survive this, you should write about your Titanic experience," Jennifer said, raising her eyes to his again. "It would definitely be a success, I'm sure of it."
"Perhaps," Peter said.
Jennifer rested her right hand on the railing next to her, uneasy about the slope she could feel in the deck. A hiss escaped through her teeth as her bandaged hand gave her a stab of pain. Peter looked at her in concern.
"What's wrong?"
Jennifer held up her hand, grimacing. "Oh, it's just that cut. It hurts a little now."
Peter gently took her hand and looked it over. Jennifer noticed with a touch of disgust that her blood was starting to show through the pristine white of the handkerchief. "This looks serious," he said, concerned. "You might need stitches. Perhaps you should see the ship's doctor."
"Now?" Jennifer asked, incredulous. "I don't think so! The ship is sinking!"
Peter leaned forward, tilting his head in an effort to avoid casting shadows over her hand. Jennifer stared at the top of his head, her stomach twisting at the thought of cold sea water pouring over it. Damn, she thought. What's the good of traveling through time if we can't help people? Her eyes blurred with a sudden rush of tears. Jennifer shifted her eyes away from Peter, in an effort to distract herself, but it just made her feel worse seeing the people crowding the decks of the floundering Titanic. Some would live; most would die.
"Miss Parker?"
"Call me Jennifer," she mumbled.
Peter stepped closer to her, trying to meet her downcast eyes. "Jennifer, is something wrong? Is it your hand? If it's giving you that much discomfort, then I really do think you might want to see the ship's doctor."
"It's not that," Jennifer said in a low voice, not trusting herself to speak normally. "It's just...." She bit her lip, fighting a rush of emotion. "I just wish I hadn't come. This is too real."
Peter reached up and touched her chin, tilting her face up to his. He stared at her for a long moment, not saying anything. Jennifer couldn't say anything--all she could think about was that the face before her would soon be at the bottom of the ocean, like the deck that she now stood on. The person before her would be one more number, one more statistic to one of the worst maritime disaster in the 20th century.
"You should have stayed in the boat," Peter said finally.
"Jennifer?"
Jennifer turned around suddenly, startled by the sound of her name. Doc Brown stood a few feet away. Next to him was Marty. Her boyfriend was staring at her, his eyes wide and shocked, his cheeks flushing with color. She was confused for a second, and then realized exactly what he was thinking.
Jennifer stepped away from Peter and attempted smiled at Marty, then Doc. "Thank God you guys are here!" she said, relieved by the sight of them.
Marty narrowed his eyes at her, then shifted them over to Peter. Marty stepped close to Jennifer and put an arm around her. "Who are you?" he asked, a little bluntly.
"Peter McCoy. I assisted Jennifer when she was in danger of falling from the boat," he explained, nodding to her.
Doc raised an eyebrow at her. "When was this?"
Jennifer didn't feel like getting into the whole story then. "I'll explain later," she said. "Peter, this is Marty McFly, my boyfriend, and Emmett Brown, a friend of ours."
Marty stiffened up beside her. "Ix-nay on the names, Jen," he hissed in her ear. Peter didn't hear. He graciously shook Doc's hand, then a reluctant Marty's.
"Well, I see you're in good hands now," Peter said when the introductions had been complete. He looked rather uncomfortable, perhaps due to the way Marty was staring at him suspiciously. "I'll be off now."
Jennifer reached out to stop him, touching his arm as he turned around to leave. "Please, get in a lifeboat," she said, staring him straight in the eyes.
Peter smiled faintly. "I'll see what I can do," he promised. "Perhaps we'll see each other again sometime."
Jennifer lowered her eyes, unable to see him any longer. "Perhaps," she said softly.
Peter McCoy had hardly walked ten feet before Marty couldn't hold it back any longer. He stepped away from his girlfriend, hurt and angry, searching her face for some sign of her feelings. "Who the hell was that, Jennifer?"
Jennifer shrugged. Her cheeks were flushed, perhaps from cold or perhaps from blushing. Her eyes were strangely bright in the dim light, a look that Marty first attributed to happiness--but, leaning closer, he noticed that her eyes were merely brimming with tears. Not over that Peter McCoy, I hope, Marty thought darkly.
"He helped me out and he wanted to make sure that I was okay before he left," she explained. "There's no need for you to be jealous, Marty." Jennifer turned to Doc, who was frowning into a pocket watch. "Can we leave now, please?"
"Wait a minute," Marty said, holding his hand up. He was forced to stop as another fit of coughing seized him, his chest aching dully from the effort.
Jennifer stared at him, worried. "Are you okay, Marty? You sound terrible!"
Marty cleared his throat and forced himself to speak softly. "It's just a cold," he said, a little hoarse. He asked his question before Jennifer could voice any more concerns about his health. "What about my family? Where are they?"
"They left on a lifeboat," Jennifer said. "I think it was number three."
Marty's heart sunk faster than the ship they were on. "Damn," he said. "So there's no way we can get to them?"
Jennifer shook her head. "Not unless we can find the boat in the ocean now and swing over it," she said. "Why? Did you find the doll?"
Marty nodded. "At least we think we found it." He sighed, wondering what they could do now. It was so frustrating to be this close to success! "Doc? How to we get this doll to my great-aunt?"
The scientist didn't appear to hear him, still staring at the watch. He tapped it with one finger once, twice. The frown on his face deepened.
"Doc?" Marty started to feel a little uneasy.
Doc closed the watch, tilting his face up to study the sky. No, not the sky, exactly--he was looking at the space above them.
"Is something wrong?" Jennifer asked, picking up on Marty's disquiet.
Doc stepped up to the railing, climbing onto the lowest bar. Gripping a long flagpole that was at the very center of the stern with one hand, he reached up with his other arm, waving it around slowly at first, then in wider and more rapid circles.
"Doc!" Marty exclaimed, his raised voice earning himself another bout of coughing. Bent over double from the force of them, he faintly heard Jennifer finish his question.
"Dr. Brown? What's wrong?"
There was a silence to the question. Marty finally stopped coughing, though the tickle at the back of his throat nearly made his eyes water. He slowly straightened up, his head throbbing at the temples, and joined Doc at the side of the ship. His purpose was more necessary, however; Marty leaned over as far as he could and spit out a mouthful of whatever he'd hacked up from his lungs. He hoped it was dark enough that Jennifer didn't notice.
When he leaned back, Doc had stepped down from the railing and was staring at the space above, his eyes wide. Marty didn't plan to wait any longer for any answers. "Doc," he whispered, not wanting to set off another coughing fit. "What's wrong?"
Doc blinked, his eyes finally seeming to focus on the present. He looked at Marty, then at Jennifer. His expression revealed little. "The tracking device malfunctioned," he said in a low voice.
"What's that mean?" Jennifer asked, stepping close to Marty.
"It means little, but much," Doc said. "I can't visually locate the DeLorean right now with the HIS system activated. Perhaps the vehicle drifted in the air; perhaps the ship has. At any rate, I don't know where it is right now. And if we don't find it in the next"--Doc paused to look at his watch--"in the next twenty to thirty minutes, this ship will sink. With us on board."
"You're joking right?" Doc shook his head in answer to Marty's whispered question. "I'm afraid not." "We're stuck here?" Jennifer gasped, her hand at her throat. "I thought you said this system worked!" Marty said, the volume of his voice causing him to double over again with coughs. Doc was concerned with that--Marty sounded like he was getting worse, not better--but health issues would have to wait. As his friend struggled to regain control over his lungs, Doc explained the situation further, speaking rapidly. "The system works," he said. "Perhaps a little too well. This is not a case, I assure you, of the time machine experiencing mechanical failure; it is a case of us not locating the time machine. If we can find it, we can return home." "What happened to your tracking device?" Marty gasped, when he had managed to take a breath without gagging on it. Doc pulled out the device, built in the casing of a pocket watch. The LCD screen was dark and blank. "I'm not certain, yet. Perhaps the batteries drained quicker than I anticipated. Perhaps something was jarred loose inside. I'll have to take it apart to discover the cause." "If we get back," Marty muttered. Jennifer stared out at the area above the deck's railing. "I don't see anything but dark sky and stars," she whispered. "It's completely invisible!" Doc nodded, a little wryly. "I suppose our problem this time is my invention is working too well." He chuckled once, without humor. "I never thought that would be an issue." "So what do we do, Doc?" Marty asked, steering the subject back to the more immediate concern. "What are our options now?" Doc remained calm as he explained them, seeing no reason to show the fear and unease that was running under the surface. Marty and Jennifer both knew the gravity of the situation. "We can attempt to reach a lifeboat and escape into it. But this is a fool's errand. While there would be a possibility that Jennifer would get on one, Marty and I would most certainty not. It was women and children first, and the rules were definitely not bent at this hour of the game." "What else?" Jennifer asked. "I refuse to leave you both. There is no way, so that's not an option." "We can stay at this point right here and hold on. The stern was the part of the ship that remained out of the water the longest. One man, the ship's baker, was able to merely step off as the stern went under. He didn't even get the top of his head wet." "There's no way in hell I'm going swimming now," Marty said, his arms folded
across his chest. "I'm cold enough already." "There might not be much of a choice in the matter," Jennifer said softly. "Quick, Doc, what else is there?" "Again, we remain here--but we do everything in our power to search for the time machine. The Titanic goes under about 2:20AM--we have not quite half an hour."
"I vote for that," Marty said, nodding. "Me too," Jennifer said. "But...." She hesitated, closing her mouth, then appeared to change her mind. "Doc? Should I get some lifevests for us? Just in case?" Doc considered the question, searching for temporal problems in it. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "All right. But don't steal them from anyone. Take three only if they're offered. We don't want to chance killing someone who survived because they were wearing one." Jennifer nodded. "I'll be back as soon as possible." "No way!" Marty protested, grabbing her arm. "I'll go, and you stay here." Jennifer frowned faintly. "I can do the job, Marty." "I don't care," Marty said. "You wait here with Doc, and I'll do it." Jennifer remained stubborn. "Marty, no offence, but you're a guy. In a time like this, people were more apt to give women things like lifevests. The men were expected to face whatever fate threw their way." Marty's face flushed with color, but Doc was more inclined to agree with Jennifer. "Jennifer, go, and hurry! Marty, stay here and assist me." Jennifer nodded once, then turned and ran as fast as she could down the deck. Doc noticed uneasily that the slope was growing worse. If one listened carefully, straining their ears over the sound of voices that drifted through the air, it was possible to hear deep groans from inside the ship, under the decks, as the iron strained at the weight of the water gushing inside. "Doc! Why did you let her go?" Marty demanded, his voice cracking as he raised it to his normal speaking volume. "What if she doesn't get back in time?" "She has a very valid point," Doc answered, turning around to eye the sky again, hoping that a burst of static in the HIS would allow him a glimpse of the time machine's location. "If there are lifevests to be had, Jennifer will stand a much better chance of getting one than you." Marty didn't like that answer. He scowled. "That's so sexist." "It was the attitudes of the times," Doc answered, having had to keep that in mind when time traveling. History, in his opinion, had committed many mistakes in regards to the way different people were treated by others--but he knew that he thought so only because his times were so different. Times changed, people changed, and Doc noticed, with some scientific interest, that most people mimicked the beliefs of their time. Humans were truly products of the periods they lived. Before Marty could complain further and waste precious time, Doc instructed him to locate something long and light--like an ore, perhaps--to probe out into the air and perhaps strike the DeLorean. Finding nothing that fit that description nearby, Marty ran off, promising to be back as soon as he could. Doc sighed once he had departed, stepping close to the railing and grasping the icy metallic surface with his hand. He looked at the time. It was 1:57.
Jennifer pushed her way past people as she ran down the ship's deck. The slant was increasing; she felt as if she was running down a hill. Not a steep one, not yet. But that would change in time. The stairs were where that sensation was most noticeable; they were slowly growing more level.
Lifevests! she thought, her eyes scanning around frantically. She saw plenty of people wearing the white vests, but no one was passing them out. Where would they be? They were stored in rooms, I remember. But are there any left in the rooms.....?
It took her three seconds to make the decision. She ran, gasping at the cold air that burned her lungs, for the first class aft staircase. Jennifer's reasoning was simple--the first class would be more likely to have lifevests to be passed out.
People were surging forward the way she had come, towards the now-uppermost portion of the ship, making Jennifer feel as if she was fighting a human current. She wished to God she had wings--then she could locate the DeLorean a lot easier and wouldn't even be stuck here!
She was in sight of her goal when a man suddenly grabbed her. "Hurry, miss!" he said, lifting her up over his shoulder and taking her past the stairs and towards the first class hallway that would lead to the forward Grand Staircase. "There's still a boat left! You've got to get on now!"
"The hell I do!" Jennifer shouted, her use of swearing having no impact on this man. He appeared to be one of the crew members, dressed in the same uniforms she had seen them wearing throughout the evening. "Let me go! I don't want to leave this ship!"
The man walked rapidly, his speed not hindered in the least by her weight. Jennifer's heart sank rapidly as she grew further from the stairs she wanted to use, closer to the portion of the ship rapidly filling with water. "Let me go, dammit!" she exclaimed, pounding hard on his back with her fists.
"Let her go!" a male voice demanded from behind Jennifer. The crew member stopped abruptly, as if he was prevented from moving forward any further.
"Out of the way!" Jennifer's captor said. "I'm trying to save this young woman's life! The ship is sinking!"
"I'm aware of that, but she doesn't want to go! Let her go. There are other women out there more willing for a spot on a boat!"
Jennifer twisted her head around, recognizing the voice now. Sure enough, Peter McCoy was the one who had stopped the man. Where the heck did this guy come from? she wondered. The ship was so big, and he'd stumbled across her again? The odds were eerie.
"It'll be a death sentence if she's not on a lifeboat!" the man said, not surrendering his cargo that easily.
"I don't care!" Jennifer insisted. "Let me go right now or I'll--I'll report you to the company!"
Strangely, the threat seemed to have an effect. The man promptly set her down. "It's your death," he said darkly, then slipped past Peter at a run.
Jennifer smoothed her dress out. "Jerk," she muttered.
Peter leaned over her, concerned. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," Jennifer said. "I just wish people would stop trying to throw me on lifeboats here!"
"It's to be expected for someone as young and pretty as yourself," Peter said, smiling faintly. "Where are your friends?"
"They're--they're waiting for me," she said. "Listen, this is important, and we don't have much time--where can I find some lifevests?"
Peter promptly held out a lifevest he had tucked under one arm. "Here."
Jennifer pushed it back, shaking her head. "No, I'm not taking those from anyone," she said. "What I mean is, is someone passing them out somewhere? Is there a room where you can find them in?"
"There were some extra ones in my stateroom," Peter said. "Come, I'll take you there." He turned around, heading down the hall in the direction of the Grand Staircase. After traveling only about ten feet, he stopped and opened a door on the left side of the hall. Room C-119, Jennifer noticed. She also noticed, with a cold chill down her spine, that over half the hallway was under water, the edge of it only two doors down from Peter's room.
"I don't see the point in locking my room now," he explained, stepping inside and turning the lights on. "Titanic is sinking; half the ship is under water now."
"I know," Jennifer said, tearing her eyes away from the water and into the room. This was the first first class stateroom she was getting to see. It frustrated her that there was so much to see in this one room alone, and so little time to look at it all. The room was cozy, cluttered with a bed and what looked to be a couch that could be converted to a bed. There was a sink with a mirror over it. The walls were painted white, elegant light fixtures set in them. The bed was constructed of a dark wood. There was an armchair and a desk also in the room.
"This is first class?" she said aloud, surprised.
Peter opened the door to a wardrobe, across from the bed, reaching up to the top shelf. "Yes. It's quite nice, don't you think?"
"Yeah," Jennifer said, her eyes still scanning the room. The stuff in here was definitely not cheap. "I just thought the room would be...bigger."
"They are on the upper decks," Peter said, his attention turned to the wardrobe. "But why would I need all that room for just myself?"
It was a good point. Peter turned around a moment later, another life vest in one hand. "Do you have any more?" she asked before he could close the wardrobe. He blinked.
"Of course," he said. Peter pulled another one out. "This is all they gave me--three."
Jennifer supposed two was better than none. She accepted the two spare ones from Peter. A deep, pained groan emitted from under their feet, causing them both to freeze for a moment. The floor trembled slightly and the lights flickered, dimming down to a reddish glow for a moment before brightening again. Jennifer's heart began to pound. She threw a glance at a clock hanging on the wall. 2:06AM. Time was running out.
"Peter, we've got to get on the deck, right now!" Jennifer exclaimed, turning for the door. She gasped as she stepped into the hall, her feet suddenly soaked from the ankles down in freezing water. Jennifer looked to her left. Water was gushing down the hallway now, the flood increasing at a faster and faster rate. The hallway was all but deserted now. Jennifer started to run away from the water, her heart pounding so hard she felt dizzy. The water! she thought, her eyes wide. Oh my God! It's coming after us!
A glance over her shoulder as she hurried told her Peter was following at a sprint, his face pale. She paused for a moment to pull one of the vests over her head, the other one tucked under her arm. Peter caught up with her seconds later, pushing her gently but firmly ahead of him at a run.
Less than fifteen minutes now, Jennifer's mind screamed as they went, the groans of the ship's straining frame echoing in her ears. Oh, God, please let Marty and Doc find the time machine!
Marty's search for a long, lightweight device to probe for the DeLorean didn't last long. Hesitating to search for an ore, knowing how important those might be to the lifeboats, Marty ended up grabbing a coil of rope he found kicked to one side beside the railing on the aft well deck. Getting back to Doc, just up 14 steps of stairs, was the harder part; so many were making a journey to the stern that the stairs were clogged with people moving too slowly for Marty.
"Hurry up!" he shouted, when he found it impossible to squeeze past them. His voice, strained and weakened from his constant coughing now, made no difference, becoming lost in the other voices also carrying through the air. Finally, finally Marty reached the poop deck and ran across it, dodging people huddled together. Most were clutching something solid--the benches, the railings, anything bolted down. Running towards the very back where Doc was waiting, Marty could definitely feel the slant of the ship now.
Doc was facing out, away from the ship, his face tilted upward. Marty squeezed in between Doc and a young woman clutching the railing so hard her knuckles were white. "Found this!" he gasped, passing the scientist the rope. Marty bent over the railing, coughing hard, his head aching miserably with every little jar his body took now. Maybe this is the flu, he thought, having to spit out another mouthful of gunk he'd hacked up. He wasn't sure, but he thought he might be running a fever now--or else it was just the lack of sleep he'd been having, all coming down hard on him now.
Marty's stomach twisted as he noticed--really noticed--the drop he was staring out into. Faintly, thanks to the starlight, he could see people and objects already in the water, tiny little spots of white on the dark water. But what really sickened him was the sight of three huge propellers that were beginning to be lifted from the ocean, water gushing down the metal. It was unnatural.
"Holy shit," he breathed, leaning back and averting his eyes elsewhere.
Doc examined the rope for a moment. "Was this the best you could find?" he asked.
"Unless you wanted me to find a lifeboat and try to get an ore from them," Marty muttered. "That could be bad, too."
Doc nodded. "Yes," he agreed. "But this rope should do nicely, I think."
As Doc knotted one end of it, Marty braced himself back against the railing, looping one of his arms around the top rung, and looked around at the increasing mob surrounding them. He tentatively drew in a deep breath, managing to hold it down. "Where's Jennifer?"
"She's not returned yet," Doc said. He looked over the side of the ship, frowning. "I hope she hurries. She's running out of time."
Marty hoped so, too. He wished again that Jennifer and Doc would've let him gone after the lifevests instead. "How much time do we have left?"
"Not much more than ten minutes, I would wager," Doc said, leaning over the railing and swinging the rope back and forth in increasingly wide arcs. "And when things start to fall apart with this ship, they do so mighty rapidly."
"Perfect," Marty muttered.
Jennifer arrived a couple minutes later, her face pale as she ran up. Marty was not pleased to see Peter McCoy right behind her. "The water!" she gasped when she reached Doc and Marty, slipping between the scientist and her boyfriend at the railing. "The water's coming!"
Marty looked at her with concern, noticing that her dress was soaked near the hem. "Jen, what's wrong?"
Jennifer thrust a lifevest she had under her arm out to Marty. "Take this," she said, still gasping from her exertions. "Put it on now."
Marty obliged. "Where's Doc's?"
"There weren't anymore," Jennifer said. She looked over the side of the ship and gasped in horror. "Oh my Lord, the propellers...."
Peter stepped next to Marty, taking his own look over the side. "Dear God," he murmured.
Marty leaned over, close to his girlfriend's ear. "What's he doing here?" he muttered.
"He helped me out again," Jennifer murmured back, distracted. She reached out and took Marty's hand, squeezing it hard enough to cause him to wince. He looked down at her grip, for the first time noticing a bandage or something wrapped around the palm and back of her hand.
"What happened?" he asked her.
"I cut myself earlier," Jennifer answered, offering no further explanation. "We have to get on the other side of the railing soon," she added, managing to tear her eyes from the long drop to the sea. "We'll have a better grip then."
Marty figured they better do it within the next couple minutes. The ship seemed to be slanting harder and faster by the second. He watched in horror as a few people couldn't stand any longer on their own and slipped to the deck, unable to stop from sliding down it.
"Christ," he whispered. He looked at Doc, who was keeping one hand gripped around the railing while using the other to swing the rope out over and over again. No one noticed his actions, too concerned with themselves in the last minutes of Titanic. "Have you found the DeLorean yet?" Marty asked.
Doc shook his head, biting his lower lip in concentration. "No," he answered, sounding terse in his reply.
Jennifer leaned over the railing, looking over to address Doc. "Doc, make sure you've got a good hold on the railing," she said. "Please."
"I am, Jennifer," Doc answered, his eyes locked on the rope as it drifted through the air, unstopped.
Marty pried his hand free of Jennifer's to pull out his pocket watch and check the time. About 2:12AM. "What time did you say this thing went under at?" he asked.
"2:20," Jennifer answered.
"What?" Peter asked from the other side of Marty. He had completely forgotten about him. Peter stared at Jennifer as if she was mad. "How would you know such a thing?"
Jennifer didn't answer the question, stepping closer to the railing and gripping it with both hands now. The ship itself was making a tremendous amount of racket, groaning as the iron stretched in ways it was never meant to stretch. Strangely, eerily, Marty could hear some people singing hymns nearby. The sound was haunting.
Ironically, the ship's lights still remained lit, though the glow was becoming more and more reddish in nature.
Doc stopped his rope tossing, taking a moment to wrap it around the railing a few times before using both his hands to hold on. He was frowning deeply, looking rather peeved. The expression was almost comical to Marty; no one else looked angry. Instead, various expressions of fear and horror were on display.
Marty wrapped one arm around the top railing bar, gripping that bar with both his hands harder than he'd ever held onto something in his life. He prayed that he wouldn't start coughing now; he needed every ounce of his strength to stay where he was and not topple down the deck like increasing numbers of people were doing.
Jennifer had adapted the same strategy of holding on as Marty, her hands white and bloodless at the strength of her grip. Her face was white, the contrasting warm color of her hair, causing the illusion that her skin was porcelain in nature. Her eyes were wide, utterly shocked, and her lips trembled.
A terrible sound suddenly cut through the air, like that of metal ripping or tearing. Marty looked towards the source of it--where the front of the ship used to be--and saw one of the huge smokestacks start falling towards the water, sparks and soot drifting through the air with it. He gasped, seeing the sea littered with people and debris that were all in the path of the timbering stack. It hit the water with a huge crash, sending a near tidal wave over the Titanic and towards the lifeboats nearby.
The water swept more people into the sea who had been clinging to the ship closer to the water line. From Marty's vantage point, they appeared to be dark, squirming specks. Most were wearing the white lifebelts.
People began to scream, jumping from the ship into the water. Others lost their grip of the object they were holding onto and slid down the deck, slamming into railings and benches before hitting the water. Marty clenched his eyes shut hard for a moment, willing the images to be erased from his head and forgotten forever. Those were people, he thought. Real people. Not objects, but people!
The slope increased more rapidly, until the ship was nearly at a 90 degree angle. Things started crashing from under the decks, the noise loud enough to cause Marty to wince and override, at least for now, the sounds of the screams. It sounded like everything inside the ship not nailed down was slamming into walls--and that was very likely the case. The noise was deafening.
The lights, which had remained dimly lit, flickered once, then all went out. The sudden darkness gave Marty a chill that nearly rivaled the one in the air. He was unaware of the cold until then, everything else crowded out of his mind. The sudden realization of the freezing temperatures merely reminded him how much colder the ocean was going to be. He shivered at the thought.
The crashing noises of the ship grew louder, overrun by a great, groaning, echo from the steal tearing and splitting. Pieces of the ship--a rivet, a porthole frame, a steal cable, broken pieces of wood from the deck--snapped off and flew through the air in vague blurs.
"It's splitting in two!" Marty gasped aloud.
"Hold on tightly," Jennifer yelled. "We're going to move!"
The earsplitting noises of the ship tearing apart were so loud that Marty wondered if he would have any hearing left if he did survive this. Then, suddenly, the stern began to drop back. The action reminded Marty of the Sea Dragon ride they would bring to the county fair, the ride that rocked back and forth, like a big pendulum. He gripped the railing even tighter, his heart suddenly in his throat, tensing up for the stern's inevitable impact with the sea.
It came after a gut-wrenching twenty seconds, creating another huge wave in the water and crushing more people below. Marty tried not to think about that, though the screams surrounding him made it impossible. Instead, he looked up in surprise to see three-fourths of the ship completely gone. Yet this half was floating almost as evenly as it had been when the entire ship had been there.
"Get over the railing!" Jennifer shouted over the babble of cries and screams from the passengers still clutching onto the ship. Even as she spoke, Marty could feel the ship start to tilt again, the stern rising back up out of the water. He swung his legs over the railing, noticing only then how badly he was shaking; his entire body was unable to stop, no matter how much effort Marty put into willing it.
Regardless, he got a tight white-knuckled grip on the icy metal bars and prepared for the worst. A glance to his left told him Doc had executed the movie without a problem. The same was true of Jennifer, now standing on the other side of the railing, although he was a little confused how she had managed to pull off such a move in her dress and those precarious shoes.
The stern rose higher and higher into the air until Marty was literally kneeling down on the railing, staring at a drop that made him gag. It looked almost like the Titanic would fall forward, landing in the ocean on top of the deck, and crush them all. More people who had not gotten into a good position to hold on lost their grips, falling in groups or singularly to the water and debris below. He had to close his eyes after a moment, the view making him feel dizzy--not a good thing when one was perched so precariously at the very height of it all.
The ship seemed to pause when the stern was as high as it would go, the aft portion of the ship now 90 degrees above the water. Marty opened his eyes and looked at Jennifer beside him. She was staring down, as if hypnotized. "I love you, Jen," he said softly.
Jennifer looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh, Marty," she whispered. "I'm so sorry about this!"
Marty smiled, his lips numb from the biting cold. "It's okay," he said. He looked past her, to Doc. "I guess this is it, huh?"
Doc was leaning back a little, only one hand on the railing, rubbing the top of his head with an odd expression. Slowly, his face changed from one of vague puzzlement to one of cautious hope. Marty almost fainted when he saw what his friend did next--he stretched one arm up into the air above him. Half of it vanished into thin air.
Marty felt his grip weaken for a moment, his mouth falling open. "Holy shit," he whispered.
Peter McCoy, holding on next to Marty, went whiter than he already was. "Good Lord, what in the devil is that?!"
"The DeLorean!" Doc said, his eyes wide. "I can feel the tire!" Marty nearly had a heart attack when Doc stood up on the bars. He vanished from the waist up, a moment later the interior of the DeLorean becoming visible. Doc boosted himself up in the car, then turned around and held his hand out.
"Jennifer, take my hand!"
Jennifer needed little prompting. Trembling, she crept over to where the DeLorean hovered, taking Doc's hand and allowing herself to be pulled in the car. It was the weirdest thing Marty had ever seen--save for the inside of the DeLorean, he couldn't see anything. Doc's invisible illusion was completely flawless.
Once Jennifer was inside, over in the passenger seat, Marty started to creep over on his knees for his turn. The ship under him groaned long and loud, then started to make it's final decent into the sea. His heart began to race even faster than it was already at the movement.
"Marty! Throw me the rope!" Doc shouted.
Marty's eyes flicked down to the rope by his hands that Doc had been using earlier, attempting to locate the DeLorean. He managed to unloop it with one hand, then flung the end of it towards Doc. The scientist caught it on the first try. "Grab it!" Doc said. "Hold on tight!"
Marty transferred his hold from the railing to the rope, just as the stern began to pick up speed in its sinking. In only ten seconds, he found himself dangling in the air above the last part of the Titanic to go under. Peter McCoy stared up at the sight, the only of the passengers who really appeared to notice the strange circumstances above, his mouth wide open in an expression of shock as he rode the railing down.
"Marty!" Doc yelled again, over the roar of the ship as it plunged down, explosions of air escaping from inside the ship, crackling across the sea. "Can you climb up?"
Marty tried moving one of his hands and found, to his horror, his grip was slipping down. He tightened his fingers as hard as he could, but they weren't reacting; the cold had numbed them. He could hardly feel the rope under his fingers.
"I can't!" he cried. "Doc, I'm slipping! Do something!"
Doc noticed his critical predicament. "I'm going to try to pull you up," he said. "Hold on, Marty! Hold on as tight as you can!"
Marty grunted a reply. Yeah, like I'm gonna let go! A look down and he saw the stern disappear under the water, with a final blast of seawater into the air. He felt dizzy again and forced his gaze up to the DeLorean, so very close. There was perhaps only ten feet separating him from that door.
Doc pulled the rope up a few inches, groaning at the strain. Marty's grip began to slip more rapidly at the movement and he nearly screamed in terror. "Doc! I'm gonna run out of rope! I can't stop slipping!"
"Hold on, Marty!" Jennifer pleaded, her tear-streaked face appearing from behind Doc. "Please, just hold on!"
Marty glanced down again, noticing he only had about five feet of rope left to hang onto. Not enough! he thought. Not enough unless I can stop slipping! He tried to wrap his legs around the rope, but his legs didn't obey his mental commands. The combination of cold and terror had successfully turned him into a statue. "Doc, hurry!"
Doc hauled the rope up a foot. Marty slipped another six inches. He stared at his hands clutched around the fibers, noticing a dark liquid being left in his wake, oozing between his fingers. Blood, he thought. Good God, I'm bleeding! He couldn't even feel the pain from the rough fibers cutting his skin. And the blood served a more deadly purpose--it slickened his grip even more, increasing the rate he was sliding down.
"Hold on!" Doc grunted, his face turning red from his efforts.
"I can't!" Marty moaned. "I'm gonna fall!"
And then one of the worst things that could have happened right then happened. Marty started to cough, hard. His hands loosened--only for a second, but it was a second too long.
The remainder of the rope slipped through his fingers like water. And Marty started to fall.
The fall to the water was one of the strangest sensations Marty had ever encountered. The actual act of the falling itself was almost graceful. The sound of the wind was the only thing he could hear as he fell, watching the dark, wet ocean speed towards him at a terrifying rate. He had enough time to literally see his life flash before his eyes--a situation Marty believed would take days and not seconds, what with all the weird things he'd lived through--before he hit the water. The cold cut through him like a deadly knife. Every cell in his body seemed to contract together, seizing up and stopping all motion and production for a moment. Instinctively, Marty kicked towards the surface, his garments clinging to him like a thick, second skin and making it difficult to move. He broke the surface after an endless minute and gasped in a sharp, chilly breath. The quick inhalation caused him to start coughing again, painfully hard. "Jesus!" he whispered, looking up at the sky. It was dark, the DeLorean completely invisible from the eye. Around him, people who had managed to survive the sinking of the Titanic were in the water, swimming, shouting, crying for help, clinging to anything that would float. There was no sign at all that a huge ship had been there just an hour before; the ocean was littered with people, hundreds of people, and so many odd items--deck chairs, suitcases, what looked like paneling or bed frames, cushions and pillows.... The sound of all the pleas for help chilled Marty even more than the water. Faintly, he could see several lifeboats around, but they didn't seem to be approaching at all. He felt his temper start to well up at those people sitting in them, doing nothing when they could be doing something. A wave smacked him in the face. Marty coughed again. He turned his head to the side and started scanning the area for something to hold onto. His life preserver was keeping him afloat, but he wasn't able to keep his head above water enough to really breathe without getting water in his mouth. The pressure from the water itself was making it even harder to draw in a breath. He saw a deck chair floating nearby and started to swim awkwardly over to it, his muscles already stiffening from the cold. They ached dully. This is so not good, he thought, shivering as he swam. This is so incredibly bad! How is Doc going to find me in this maze of people? And the cold water..... Marty reached the deck chair after a minute and locked his arms over it, able to be up out of the water a little more by leaning forward on it. Still, over three- fourths of his body was submerged in liquid that felt like it was definitely below freezing. The air wasn't much warmer. Floating there, kicking his legs as hard as he could in an attempt to keep his blood circulating, Marty started to shiver so hard his teeth chattered. "Doc!" Marty shouted as loud as he could. He coughed hard, a dull pain increasing in his chest. Marty groaned softly, almost wishing he'd broken his neck in the fall. How long does it take for someone to freeze to death? he wondered as the cries of others in his predicament echoed in his ears. "Please, help us!"
"Come back! Come back! We'll drown!" "Oh, my Lord, my Lord, my God...." "There's a baby I've got here! Please, someone come back, please, you must save 'er!" Marty looked up at the sky, shaking uncontrollably from the frigid water. The stars gleamed brightly overhead. There was no sign of the DeLorean.
Doc Brown could only watch in horror as Marty slipped from the rope and fell to the ocean below. His friend didn't scream; the last Doc could see of his face was a rather shocked, startled expression.
"Great Scott!" he gasped as Marty hit the water, landing in the midst of a sea churning with hundreds of others swimming, fighting to survive.
"What happened?" Jennifer cried, grabbing Doc's arm. "Oh my God, he fell didn't he? Marty fell into the water!"
Jennifer's voice grew increasingly shrill as she spoke. Doc looked over at her for a second, wondering if she was going to be able to help him. Her eyes were wide, filled with a numb sort of shock. Doc looked her straight in the eyes, speaking slowly and calmly.
"Yes, Marty fell in the water. But we can get him out of it. I'm going to need your help, however. Can you help me, Jennifer?"
Jennifer moaned, drawing back. "Oh my God," she gasped. "Oh my God! The water...it's below freezing!"
"Yes," Doc said in that same calm voice. "It is. But some did survive it. Most people did not perish until a half hour of being submersed in it. So if we can retrieve Marty before then, he should be fine. Time is critical, Jennifer. Now you have two choices," he added, leaning forward towards her and preparing to be as blunt as possible. "You can sit here and cry, or you can help me out with this and give it all the energy you have. Can you do that for me, Jennifer, for Marty?"
Despite the tears sliding down her face, Jennifer nodded slowly. She took a deep breath and let it out, shuddering, then took another one. "I'll--I'll help you, Doc," she said softly, a trembling still present in her words. "What do I have to do?"
Doc pulled the rope inside the car and shut the door. "There are some binoculars in the glove box," he said, turning on the heater in the car with one hand and starting the engine with the other as he spoke. "They work in darkness. Use those and see if you can spot Marty. I am going to bring the vehicle closer to the water, but not more than five feet above sea level--I don't want to risk getting the time vehicle wet, or the devices underneath it."
Jennifer opened the glove box, locating the binoculars a moment later. "Are these it, Doc?" she asked.
Doc glanced over and nodded as he brought the car down, still under its invisible guise. The last thing he wanted to do was terminate the program and show people the DeLorean, even if most of the witnesses would end up dying within the hour.....
Doc took the DeLorean down to where he believed Marty had fallen. Not pushing his five foot rule in the slightest, he stopped the vehicle in the air and looked around the water. People and a variety of debris stretched as far as he could see, almost everyone in the white lifebelts. Doc sent a prayer of thanks heavenward that Marty had put one on before the ship had sunk--had he not, he could have quite easily drowned in all those heavy layers of clothing. As long as he didn't strike his head on anything or lose his lifevest, he should be floating there with the rest of them.
Through the closed windows, over the faint rumble of the engine, Doc could hear a chorus of screams and cries from those struggling in the sea. The sound gave him chills. Jennifer heard it as well, muffling a sob with her hand and turning her head away towards the back of the car for a moment.
"Search for Marty," Doc prodded gently.
"What--" Jennifer's voice broke. She swallowed hard and tried again. "What are we going to do when we find him? How do we get him in here if you can't land on the water?"
Until that moment, Doc had not really considered the question. He had assumed, erroneously, that Marty would just climb inside. Spending even a couple minutes in water that had a temperature a couple degrees below freezing, however, would most definitely write that off. Doc doubted that Marty would have any strength to hold onto that rope now and be hauled aboard, let alone climb it.
"I'll come up with something," he promised, his mind already set to working on that dilemma. A glance at the time circuits told him it was now 2:31 AM. Marty could have been in the water for as long as ten minutes. Doc swallowed hard, trying not to think about that. "Look, Jennifer. He should be in this vicinity."
"What if we're hovering over him and I can't see him?"
To guarantee that would not happen, Doc began to move the DeLorean in a wide, slow circle around the area he believed Marty to be in. Jennifer pressed the binoculars to her eyes, peering out the window.
"Idon't see anything," she said after a moment.
"There's a switch on the side," Doc replied, trying to do his own share of looking outside. Jennifer located it and gasped when she flicked it.
"Oh my God! This is incredible! Where did you get this?"
"The future," Doc answered honestly. "Do you see Marty?"
There was a long silence, the only sound that of the air rushing from the heater, the car's engine, and the faint, haunting chorus of Titanic passengers outside. Doc eyed the clock, his unease increasing. 2:32. As the digits clicked to 2:33, Jennifer spoke.
"I see him," she said.
Marty had stopped kicking his legs a few minutes ago. He couldn't feel then anymore by then and motion became difficult, then impossible, to do. So he held onto the deck chair with all the strength he had, shivering violently and wondering if he was really going to die. He couldn't feel his body anymore; it was as if he was just floating in some void, still conscious of what was going on around him, but detached from it all.
The voices around him were fading in volume and number. Marty caught a few glimpses of a couple people near him and they appeared to be sleeping upright in the water, their skin blue-white, their hair stiff and frozen. But Marty knew the truth--they were sleeping, all right, but it was forever!
Corpses, he thought. I'm in the water near corpses.
The thought sickened him, but the reaction wasn't as severe as he might have believed it to be only five minutes earlier. The cold seemed to be numbing his emotions as well.
"Marty!"
Was he hallucinating, now, too? It almost sounded like Doc Brown was right above him.... Marty managed to turn his head enough to look up. The scientist was leaning out the driver's side door of the invisible DeLorean, his face anxious.
"Good," Doc said before Marty could even attempt to speak. "You're still respondent. We're going to get you out of there now, so just keep holding on."
Marty tried to speak through his completely numbed lips. "I--I--I--ca--ca--can't--mo--ove," he managed to get out, the words completely distorted by the shivers wracking his body. Marty coughed again, wincing as the effort and energy that took from him.
"I know," Doc said. "Don't worry, we're going to get you up here."
How? Marty wondered, not voicing the question.
Doc ducked back in the DeLorean. The door seemed to turn around, utterly confusing Marty and making him wonder if this really was a near-death hallucination after all--then he saw another door becoming visible, as well as his girlfriend inside this one. It took him a full minute of hard thinking before he realized that Doc had merely rotated the time machine.
By that time, Jennifer was starting to lower herself down a rope, sitting on a sling and moving herself down by some apparent kind of pulley system. Marty didn't know what to think of that; then again, he had no clue what Doc had in that DeLorean. She reached his location in a minute, her shoes touching the frigid water. Marty could only stare at her.
"Hold still," she said. "Don't move."
That wasn't a problem. Taking one hand off the rope, Jennifer leaned over and grabbed the back of his white life vest, still tied securely on him. She pulled him towards her, grunting and groaning at the effort.
"Jeez!" she gasped. "You weigh a ton!"
Marty wanted to tell her that it wasn't him, it was the damned waterlogged period clothing, but he didn't try to say a word. Things were starting to get a little fuzzy. He couldn't feel the water as Jennifer moved him through it. Marty felt the closest he could imagine to being weightless.
Watch it, McFly, a sharp voice issued from his mind. You have to stay alert here! If you close your eyes, you might never open them again!
The thought caused his heart to skip a moment--that same heart pumping what felt like liquid ice through his veins.
Jennifer somehow managed to pull him up out of the water, wrapping her arms around his chest and holding on tight to him. She gasped slightly, her body tensing up. "Oh, Marty, you're so cold!"
Tell me about it, he thought. He was shivering so hard, unable to stop, that the rope was starting to swing. Jennifer looked up to the car. "Doc, I don't think I can get back up by myself!"
The scientist's response was succinct--"All right. Hold on, I'm going to take the car over to one of the icebergs and bring it close enough to the ground that you can get inside."
They started to move, slowly. Doc raised the DeLorean up a little, until there was a couple feet between Jennifer's feet and the sea. Passengers still conscious in the water stared up at the strange sight in shock, not speaking. The rope groaned at the weight it was being made to support. Jennifer didn't say a word, and Marty didn't have any energy to speak.
The DeLorean began to lower again after a couple minutes, and Marty caught sight of what looked to him as a big white rock floating in the midst of a dark sea. It was an iceberg.
I wonder if that's the one that sunk the ship?
"Be careful when you step on it," Doc called down, his voice filled with tension. "I don't know how much weight it can support, nor how slippery it might be."
Jennifer heeded the warning with the utmost seriousness. Doc located a portion of the berg that appeared flattest, then lowered the DeLorean slowly. Jennifer slipped a little as her weight was gradually put on the berg, then she caught herself and was able to stand on her own. Marty was lowered immediately to the cold, icy ground. He noticed they were on a space no bigger than about two feet by two feet.
Doc lowered the DeLorean until it was no more than a foot above the ice, the tires nearly touching it. "Get inside," he said, pulling the rope into the DeLorean.
With Doc's help, he and Jennifer got Marty into the car, then Jennifer got in herself. She breathed a deep sigh of relief as the door was closed and they were all safely inside.
"I don't want to do that again!" she said. Doc shrugged his coat off and draped it over Marty, tucked between Jennifer and the time circuit control switch. Even inside the car now, likely considerably warmer than the outdoors and the water, he couldn't stop shaking from cold. He couldn't even tell the temperature anymore, and that scared him.
"Let's get back, now," Doc said, quickly setting their destination time with one hand as he steered with the other. "We have to get Marty warmed up as quickly as possible!"
Jennifer stared out the window, eyes aimed towards the sea and the scarce remains of the Titanic. "I never thought it would be like this," she murmured, her voice profoundly sad.
Doc Brown screeched the time machine to a halt in his lab and shut the DeLorean off. Crammed in the seat behind him, Marty's skin was nearly white, and he was shivering so hard that the seat was rattling. Doc opened the door and jumped out of the car, nearly slamming into Clara, waiting in the lab. "How was the trip?" she asked with a smile. That smile quickly faded when she caught view of her husband's expression as he rounded the front of the car to get to the passenger side. Jennifer opened the door and got out of the car, stepping out of Doc's way as he leaned inside the car. Clara turned to Jennifer. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "Marty fell in the water," Jennifer said with a shiver. Marty was still conscious; that was something in their favor, Doc reflected. "Can you walk?" he asked the teenager. "I--I--I--do--do--n't--kn--now," Marty mumbled. He coughed hard, sounding worse and worse to Doc. "I--I--I'm--nu--nu--umb." "We'll get you warmed up," he promised. Doc turned to look at his wife. "Clara, can you fit something hot? Soup or tea or coffee?" Clara nodded, already heading for the door. "Of course. There is a fire burning in the living room and some blankets in there." "Excellent," Doc said, only then remembering his instructions to his wife before leaving for the Titanic. He shifted his eyes to Jennifer. "Why don't you go inside and get warmed up." Jennifer shook her head firmly. "Uh uh, I'll help you with Marty." Marty, as it turned out, was able to move, though he did so rather slowly and stiffly. Doc and Jennifer both had to support him on the short walk to the house, however, as he seemed unable to even stand on his own. They entered through the kitchen where, as expected, Clara was boiling some water and preparing some soup on the stove, then passed through it into the living room where a fire was blazing in the hearth. "Jennifer, why don't you change out of your period garments," Doc suggested as they set Marty down on the floor directly before the fire, wishing to distract her from her boyfriend. "You look a little chilled yourself." Jennifer hesitated. "All right," she said slowly. As she left, Doc went over to the kitchen door and popped his head through to speak to Clara at the stove. "Are there some warm clothes I have that might fit Marty?" Although the teenager had arrived that evening wearing present-day clothing of his own, Doc didn't think that jeans and a t-shirt would be warm enough for him to change into now.
Clara stepped away from the stove and joined her husband in the doorway, eyeing Marty for a moment as he sat slumped on the floor before the flames, his dripping garments soaking the rug. "Perhaps," she allowed. "But they might be big on him, regardless. I'll fetch something if you keep an eye on the stove." Doc agreed to the deal and Clara headed upstairs. He looked at Marty again from the doorway of the two rooms. "How are you feeling now? Any warmer?" Marty moaned softly in response, his head bowed. Doc noticed that he'd stopped shivering, and that sent off a vague alarm inside. Doc left the doorway and stepped over to Marty, kneeling down next to him and touching his cheek with one hand. His skin was still deathly cold, and his eyes looked numbed, glazed over as he stared into the fire. Hypothermia, no doubt, Doc realized without surprise, wondering if he should take Marty to the hospital. The questions that would create, both from the authorities--after all, Doc reflected, who could come down with hypothermia in the middle of April in northern California?--and his family made that option stickier and less appealing than the scientist wished. Marty coughed hard again, doubling over from the power with which they ripped through his chest. Doc's concern grew, and he wondered if there was more than hypothermia at stake now. His coughing sounded a lot worse than it had earlier in the evening, deep in his chest and not quite like that from a common cold. Doc wondered if spending time in that water and the cold night air prior to the Titanic's sinking had worsened it somehow. Of course, a lack of sleep in general could impair the immune system's capacity for dealing with illness and make one more prone to sickness..... He was snapped out of his thoughts by Clara entering the room, her arms filled with clothes and blankets. She set them in an armchair nearby, speaking as she did so. "I found a sweater, some wool slacks, socks and some long underwear," Clara said. "They're a little large, I'm afraid, but they should be quite warm." "That's fine," Doc said. His wife returned to the kitchen as Doc shook Marty gently by the shoulder. "Marty? We got some dry clothes for you to change into. Do you think you can stand?" "I'm so ti--tired," Marty whispered, his speech a little slurred. "You'll feel better once you get out of the wet clothes," Doc insisted, his tone low. "Then you can sleep." Marty shook his head once. "No," he said. "We're no--not done ye--et." Doc had no idea what he meant by that, but didn't argue the matter. He pulled Marty to his feet and led him to the first floor bathroom down the hall, handing him the dry clothes. "If you're not out of there in ten minutes, I'm coming in," he warned, utterly serious. Marty nodded once, then shut the door. Doc reentered the living room just as Jennifer came down from the second floor, breathless, her dress under one arm. The color was beginning to return to her pale face, though her eyes were still red-rimmed, as if she had been crying. "Doc, do you have any bandages?" she asked softly. "I believe there are some in the medicine cabinet," he replied. "Why?" Jennifer held her right hand out. A deep, still-bleeding cut was drawn across the width of her palm. Doc sucked a breath through his teeth at the sight of it. "How did you get that?" "When I jumped from the lifeboat they threw me on," Jennifer said. She set her dress on the couch. "Could I bandage it up?" "Of course," Doc answered. He led Jennifer to the second floor bathroom, pulling out some disinfectants, cotton balls, pads, and gauze for her. "You might want to get that looked at by a doctor," he advised.
"I might tomorrow," Jennifer said. "Do you need any help with bandaging it up?" "No, I can handle it." Doc returned downstairs, taking a seat before the chair close to the fire and warming his hands near the flames. A few minutes later, Jennifer came back, white gauze now wrapped around her right hand. "Where is Marty?" she asked, surveying the room. "He's changing clothes," Doc answered. "I'm a little concerned with his health, however." "He probably has hypothermia," Jennifer said matter-of-factly. "Yes," Doc agreed. "I don't doubt that. But I think he might have more than a cold as well." "He's not running a fever, is he?" Jennifer asked, sitting down on the couch. "That would be impossible to tell currently," Doc said. "His body temperature is almost certainly below the average, not above. No, he's been coughing all evening, and I think it's gotten worse, not better." Jennifer nodded. "I noticed that," she said. "I just didn't want to say anything--he seemed touchy about it." She sighed deeply, leaning forward and resting her forehead in her hands, face turned towards the floor. "That was horrible back there," she said in a low voice. "I can't believe how different it was from what I thought...." Doc didn't know what to say in response to that. He had suspected from the start that Jennifer's ideas about the Titanic and the stark reality that it was were quite different from one another. Sometimes the only way one would truly understand something would be to experience it, and the Titanic was one of those incidents. "It had to happen, however," Doc said eventually. "Because the Titanic sank, safety regulations on ships were strengthened and updated, quite as a result of the tragedy. Had the Titanic not sunk, perhaps more lives would have been lost in the long run due to a longer period of antiquated regulations." "I know all that," Jennifer said softly, not looking up. "But...why did so many people have to die for that to be done?" "I don't have the answers for that, Jennifer," Doc said. "I can't tell you why something had to occur for something else to happen. I'm a scientist, not a philosopher or theologian." "I know," Jennifer murmured. She lifted her head up and leaned back in the couch. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Doc, what do you think happened to Peter McCoy? Did he die?" Doc only then recalled the young man that Jennifer had been with near the end of the sinking. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Would you like me to find out?" Jennifer hesitated for a full minute. "I suppose so, yes," she eventually said. "I'm almost certain of his fate, but I don't know it for sure. I think I'd rather know than not." Clara entered the living room carrying a tray filled with steaming bowls and mugs. "This should warm you all up," she said, setting the tray down on the coffee table before the couch. She looked at Jennifer, then Doc, frowning faintly. "What happened back there?" Doc waved his one hand through the air, reaching into his pocket with the other. "Some unforeseen technical difficulties," he explained, pulling out the tracking device that was supposed to sense the hologrammed DeLorean's location. Doc held it up. "This failed and we were unable to locate the DeLorean until just before the stern of the ship sunk." He paused a moment, thoughtful. "It was very close." Clara's hand drifted towards her mouth. "Oh my goodness," she murmured. "And Marty fell into the water?" Doc nodded. "He was lucky he wasn't killed in the fall alone--it was quite a drop. But he only appears to be suffering from hypothermia and a very unfriendly cough." "Is that serious?" "It could be. But I don't want to take him to the hospital unless absolutely necessary. His parents and the authorities could become quite suspicious if he was diagnosed with a case of hypothermia in the middle of April here!" "You wouldn't not take him because of that!" Jennifer gasped, her eyes widening in shock. Doc quickly tried to rephrase what he had just said. "I would never let Marty suffer because of that reason," he said. "If it looks like he might need professional medical treatment, then he will get it. I won't hesitate in the slightest. But I think we might be able to treat the hypothermia on our own. As for his cough....perhaps it is exaggerated from his exhaustion. Unless it grows serious overnight, he could have his parents take him to the doctor tomorrow." Doc heard a door open from down the hall, and a minute later Marty entered the room, walking stiffly and holding onto the wall for support with one hand. The clothes he had changed into were easily a size too big for him, but at least they were not dripping wet. Doc started to get to his feet to help him to the couch, but Clara, already standing, beat him to it. "Marty," she said, putting an arm around his shoulders and guiding him away from the wall. "Are you feeling any better now?" "I'm cold," he whispered. "Why can't I get warm?" Jennifer stood quickly, pulling a quilt from the pile on one of the chairs and wrapping it around his shoulders as he was led to the couch. "Have some tea," Clara offered as Marty sat down, clutching the quilt tightly around his body. Doc noticed he was shivering again, although it seemed to be less severe than his earlier ones. "All right," he murmured to her. One of his hands emerged from inside the quilt, holding something up. "We have to get this to her." It was the porcelain doll from the Titanic. Doc stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out how on earth Marty had managed to take that back with him. The doll was wet, her curly hair hanging in tangled clumps. The dress was still dripping water. "Where did you get that?" Clara asked as she poured Marty a mug of tea. "Fr--from the ship. I had it in my pocket, in my coat. It's my great-aunt's and we have to get it to her." Marty looked at Doc, dark circles hanging under his eyes. Doc had an almost unnerving feeling that he was talking to an animated corpse; Marty's face was so unnaturally pale. "Tonight. We have to get it to her tonight." "Ridiculous," Doc said immediately. "Why's that? I--I know the doll is a little wet, but I don't think Great-Aunt Josephine wi-- will care." "For one thing, the hour is too late. I'm almost certain that they would not allow visitors at the hospital right now. And, more important, you have to rest now. You can't go running off somewhere. Look at you, Marty--you're still shivering from that time in the ocean." Marty frowned, accepting the cup of tea Clara passed to him. The mug jittered in his trembling hands, sloshing tea over the sides and onto the rug. Clara couldn't conceal a gasp as the liquid began to soak into one of the home's more expensive furnishings; the rug had been one of the first things she and Doc had bought together after they were married. Marty set the mug down on the coffee table, Clara already kneeling down to clean up the spill. "I'm sorry," he moaned, about to say more before being stopped by another bout of coughing. Doc definitely did not like the sound of it; it took Marty a full minute before he could stop, and when he did he was gaping for air. "Don't worry about it, Marty," Clara said, her voice calm as she dabbed at the moisture with some cloth napkins. "I'm sure we'll get the stain out." Doc got to his feet and took the doll from Marty's lap. "This can wait until tomorrow," he said. "Right now, you've got to get some sleep." Marty snorted softly. "Sleep is what got us here in the first place," he muttered. "I'm not going to be able to sleep until I know that this"--Marty pointed to the doll--"is okay. I know--" He stopped a moment, coughing softly. When he spoke again, his voice was even lower. "I know that I have to do this now. Tomorrow's too late." Doc sighed. Jennifer, eyeing her boyfriend with obvious concern, spoke up. "I'll take it to her, Marty. You can stay here and rest." Marty shook his head. "No. I have to do it myself." "Why?" Jennifer asked. "I just do," he insisted, stubborn. Doc looked at the grandfather clock nearby. Midnight was almost half an hour away. "It's too late, Marty. We won't be allowed to see her." Marty stood up slowly. "Fine--I'll drive myself there." He reached for the doll in Doc's hand. Doc drew his hand back. "Marty, don't be foolish--you're in no condition to drive!" Marty remained incredibly stubborn for someone who had been nearly frozen not half an hour earlier. "I'm going, Doc, whether I drive myself or not," he said softly. "Now give me the doll. I have to do this." Doc stared at him a long moment. Marty met his gaze, his stare now considerably sharper than it had been only fifteen minutes before. He could think of a million reasons why Marty shouldn't even be on his feet now, let alone going out to a hospital. But from the way his friend was staring at him, the way his jaw was set, Doc could tell this was a battle he wouldn't be able to win--no matter what. He couldn't stop Marty from leaving if he wanted to. "You're not going to drive," Doc finally said, handing him the doll. "I'll drive you."
Marty didn't say much on the ride to the hospital with Doc and Jennifer, who had refused to be left behind. He was still cold, even sitting in the front seat of Doc's station wagon, wrapped in two heavy blankets, and with the vents from the heater aimed full blast at him. And his headache was worsening by the minute. It felt hard to breathe as well; the cough was part of it, but it ultimately felt as if he had a constant weight bearing down on his chest, making it hard to draw in air. Marty wondered if that was a symptom from hypothermia, too. As exhausted and as tempted as he was to sleep, however, he didn't even try. Things weren't quite finished yet, and it wasn't time for him to rest, not now. The doll clutched in his hands reminded him of that. The hospital parking lot was scarcely populated at this late hour of the night. Doc found a space quickly, near the doors. Marty reluctantly left the blankets in the car, exchanging it for a heavy winter coat of Doc's. The scientist had changed clothes before they left the house, and none of their attire stood out as any different from the other typical 1987 stuff, save for Marty's garments being a little big on him. Marty didn't feel like getting involved in any hospital bureaucracies, so he went straight to the floor his great-aunt was on--the fifth--and headed towards her room. He had to pause a few time in his journey, his energy being pushed beyond its reserves. He hadn't had a real night's sleep in days; he had just spent two stressful hours aboard the Titanic, then more time in that cold, cold ocean; and he was sick with something, maybe the flu or a bad cold. It would tire even the most well-rested person, and Marty was far from being that. He could hardly hold his head up. "I can't believe we're doing this now," Jennifer murmured from his side, as Doc followed a few paces behind. "We have to," Marty insisted, his voice raspy. "There's not much time left. It's now or never, and I'm not going to do never." Jennifer rubbed his back softly, her face concerned. "You're going to rest after this, right?" she asked. "You look like you're about to fall over!" "I'll sleep for two days once this is done," Marty agreed, completely serious. Doc Brown grabbed the back of his coat as Marty rounded the corner for his great-aunt's room, 526. "Hold it," the scientist said in a low voice. Marty glanced at him, irritated, his patience nearly at an end. "What is it?" he asked. Doc leaned around the corner and pointed. "The nurse's station is right there," he said softly. "We can't allow them to see us. In fact, we're fortunate that we haven't yet been spotted and escorted out of the hospital." "So?" Marty asked. Jennifer answered this time. "Marty, the visiting hours aren't now and if we're seen by any of the hospital personal, we'll be kicked out. Which room is your great-aunt in?"
"526." Marty pointed to the room that was--"Right across from the nurses," he finished, reluctantly. Doc studied him with a frown. "You have to be the one to visit your great-aunt?" "Yes," Marty said without hesitation. "And don't ask me why because I don't know. It's just a--just a feeling I have, I guess." Doc continued to frown. "We'll have to create a distraction then, I suppose," he said slowly. "Is there a waiting room nearby?" Marty thought he recalled one. "I think so," he said. "Why can't I just go up and tell them I'm related to my great-aunt, though? "It's midnight," Doc said, cocking his head towards a clock on the wall. "Nobody would welcome visitors at this hour. Come on, let's get to the waiting room--we stand less of a chance of being evicted in there." The waiting room was down the hall, near the elevators. The room was empty, filled with muted light and soft couches. Marty glanced for a moment at the couches, incredibly tempted to lie down for a few minutes. Doc closed the door to the room, then began to pace, slowly. He stopped a couple times to study Marty though narrowed eyes. "If we could find a lab coat...." he began thoughtfully, then stopped and stared at Marty some more, examining him from head to toe. "Hmmm, I don't know...." "What?" Marty asked, leaning against the wall. "I was going to say that if we could find a lab coat somewhere, perhaps we could pass you off as a doctor," Doc said. "But I don't believe that would work--you look far too young for anyone to believe that." "What if he dressed up as a nurse?" Jennifer suggested. Marty turned his head sharply to look at her, ignoring the pain as he did so. "I'm not dressing up in drag!" he said loudly, coughing hard after the words. Jennifer rolled her eyes. "Men are nurses, too," she said. "I still don't think that would work," Doc said, shaking his head slowly. Marty cleared his throat tentatively. "Look, why don't I just walk in the room?" he said. "A bold approach would be suitable only if there was a distraction," Doc muttered. "I suppose Jennifer and I could engineer such an act...." Twenty minutes later, after additional brainstorming, the three of them headed down the hall. Marty stopped at the corner, watching as his girlfriend and Doc went to the counter of the nurses station. "Excuse me," Doc began as the three nurses stared at him, "but I was wondering if you might be able to tell me where my wife is...." Doc launched into a long, babbling tirade about his wife, whom was in the hospital somewhere, and he wanted to know what room she was in. As the nurses spoke with him, informing him that visiting hours were through for the night and that they needed to know more information about this "Jennifer Smith" that he appeared to be married to, Marty began to creep towards his great-aunt's room. He stayed close to the wall, ducking when he reached the counter. 526 was now right across from him. Now came the tricky part. Marty looked up to Jennifer's face. She was staring straight ahead, her attention focused on the nurses. Marty took her hand and squeezed it. After a minute, she squeezed back, hard. The signal. Marty crept across the floor, crouched over, opened the door, and slipped inside the room, easing the door shut behind him with nary a sound. He was still for a long moment, pressing his ear to the metallic door. When no one barreled in after him, Marty turned around and leaned back against the door with a sigh of relief. The room was dimly lit, and the faint hum of machinery was present in the room. Marty crept towards the bed, drawing back a curtain that was pulled loosely around the piece of furniture. Josephine Baines lay under the sheets, dressed in a thin cotton hospital gown, her hair snowy white, her skin wrinkled. The elderly woman bore no resemblance to the young child Marty had seen on the Titanic. She appeared to be asleep, her eyes closed and her breathing faint and shallow. A tube was hooked up to her nose, to deliver oxygen, according to his mother from their previous visit. An IV line snaked into her hand. Marty's eyes drifted to the heart monitor set up near the bed, at the green lines that arched across the screen. The steady beep of the device informed him that his great-aunt was indeed still alive. Marty cleared his throat, finding it difficult to breathe in the sterile surroundings. He coughed hard, into his hand, the noise causing Josephine to stir. She opened her eyes, the blue a sharp contrast against her pale face and the harsh white of the sheets and room. Her eyes flickered over to Marty, but her face was expressionless. Marty managed a weak smile. "Hi," he murmured. "It's me--it's Marty McFly, your great-nephew. Lorraine's son. You remember her?" The wrinkled form in the bed did not speak, only blinked. Marty reached into the pocket of Doc's coat and pulled out the doll--a little worse for wear than the last time those eyes had likely seen it. His great-aunt's eyes widened at the sight of the doll. Marty stepped closer to the bed and held it out before him, setting it down on the pillow beside his her. "I--I brought this for you." Josephine's mouth opened and a faint gasp escaped her. "Rose," she whispered, her voice so faint that Marty had to lean forward to catch it. "My Rose. But....but she was lost...." "I got her for you," Marty explained. His great-aunt smiled slowly, the expression appearing closer to a grimace on her aged face. Her gaze suddenly sharpened as she looked at Marty. "You," she whispered. "It was you, Martin. I waited for...for this." Marty suddenly felt chilled again, as if the Grim Reaper was breathing down his neck. "What're you talking about?" he asked. Josephine lifted a trembling hand and took hold of Marty's. The grip was surprisingly strong for someone who was dying. "It was....always something I wanted. I never....never forgot about Rose. My....father gave her to me before he died. And mother wouldn't let me get her...." His great-aunt's eyes welled up with tears at the memory. "I....I never forgot." Marty's feeling of unease continued to increase, but he said nothing. Josephine's words grew fainter, the energy swiftly leaving her body. "I...I prayed for this...but I never....never dreamed that I would see her before....before I died. And you, Martin.....where did you get her?" "Right where you left her," Marty muttered, honest. His great-aunt stared at him a long moment without blinking, the beeping of the heart monitor the only sound. An understanding seemed to cross her eyes, the only part of her that seemed capable of expressing emotion. "I suppose...suppose that some mysteries are best left....unexplained," Josephine whispered. She squeezed his hand hard for a moment, then her grip began to relax. "Thank you," she sighed, her eyes closing. A moment later the heart monitor began to shriek an alarm. Marty jerked his hand away, out of his great-aunt's, startled by the sound. He started to back away from the bed, then paused and returned. He moved the doll from Josephine's pillow to the covers, placing her hand around the still-damp toy. Then, well aware that medical personal would likely be coming in any minute, he headed for the door. Marty's timing was impeccable; the door started to open just as he was reaching for the knob. He ducked behind it, watching a doctor and a few nurses run in to the bed. While they were distracted, he slipped unnoticed out of the room and hurried down the hall as fast as he could go. Doc and Jennifer met him at the elevators. Marty had to lean against the wall, trying to breathe without coughing, as they waited for an elevator car to take them down. "Did you give the doll to her?" Doc asked softly. From the expression on both his and Jennifer's faces, it was plain that they had heard the commotion from the room, and that they had a good idea what had happened. "Yeah....I did. I got it to her before....before all hell broke lose. And she said some really weird stuff." Their was a soft beep as the elevator reached their floor. "What did she say?" Jennifer asked as they stepped inside the empty car. Marty shrugged, yawning as Doc punched in the first floor button to take them down. "Just some weird stuff," he said vaguely. "I dunno...." He coughed hard, leaning against the wall of the elevator. Marty groaned softly. "God, I feel terrible...." "You can rest soon," Jennifer promised, squeezing his shoulder.
Marty was asleep before they left the parking lot, curled up against Jennifer in the back seat of Doc's car under the quilts. Jennifer was quiet for a few minutes as Doc drove them down the dark streets, back to his house. She stared out the window at the deserted, quiet streets of Hill Valley, allowing her thoughts to drift where they wanted to.
"Doc?" she finally asked, her voice soft.
"Yes?"
Jennifer recalled the alarm that had gone off at the nurses' station as she and Doc did their best to keep the women occupied--and highly confused. It brought a faint, momentary smile to her lips, recalling the strange stares they had given Doc over his insistence that his wife "Jennifer Smith" was in critical care in the hospital. There had been three such women with the same name in the computer. But the smile faded at the memory of that alarm and the rapid way the nurses had reacted.
"Did Marty's great-aunt die back there?"
Doc sighed slowly from the front seat. "I don't know. I suppose it's quite possible, considering her age and the condition she was in. Marty might know."
"He's asleep," Jennifer said, gently touching the side of his face. His skin seemed warmer now, much warmer than the unnatural coldness it had been only an hour before. She pressed the back of her hand on his cheek, then his forehead, frowning faintly.
"Marty's warm."
"That's good," Doc said. "It would seem the real danger of hypothermia is past, then."
Jennifer shook her head slowly. "No, I mean he's warm--like maybe he's running a fever." She leaned close to him, noticing his breathing now. She had actually noticed it early, thinking he was snoring, but now that she listened closer, it almost sounded as if he was wheezing faintly. "I think he's sick," she said. "He's breathing a little weird."
"All right," Doc said, his voice as calm as it had been a few minutes earlier. "We'll be back to my house in a few minutes. I suppose it's possible he could have bronchitis."
"Or something worse," Jennifer said darkly.
"Even if he did, it would be something treatable," Doc said. "Don't worry."
Jennifer tried not to do just that, but it was hard sitting there and listening to Marty's noisy, unnatural breathing. She found his hand resting in his lap and took it, giving it a squeeze.
As promised, Doc pulled into his driveway a few minutes later. Parking the car before his lab, he got out and opened the door to the back seat, leaning over to look at Marty from the other side of Jennifer. Doc felt his forehead, but after a moment took his hand back with a shrug.
"I can't tell if he's running a fever," he said. "We'll have to take his temperature for that. Can you help me get him in the house?"
Together, the two of them pulled Marty to his feet. Amazingly, the action actually caused him to wake up. He looked around, disoriented, as Jennifer and Doc half dragged, half carried him to the house.
"Where're we?" he mumbled, coughing thickly.
"We're back at my place," Doc answered.
Marty rubbed his eyes as they reached the door. Doc had to let him go with one hand as he pulled out some keys to unlock the front door. "How long was I asleep?"
"Probably not more than fifteen minutes," Jennifer said softly. "How are you feeling?"
Marty buried his face in his girlfriend's shoulder and groaned in reply. Doc got the door opened and led them inside, to the living room.
Clara was waiting up, sitting in a chair before the fire. She closed a book she had been reading and set it down, standing. "Did things go well at the hospital?" she asked.
Doc glanced at Marty, who was staggering on his own now towards the couch. "I think so," he said, looking back to his wife. Doc took Clara's arm and gently led her down the hall, speaking to her in a low voice. Jennifer turned her attention to Marty, sitting on the couch and shrugging off Doc's winter coat. He let it drop to the floor.
"Are you staying here?" he whispered, his voice sounding a little hoarse.
Jennifer hesitated a moment before nodding. "Yes. My parents might have some words with me tomorrow, but I've already got an excuse thought up for them to chew on."
Marty bent over, coughing hard. The sound was starting to wear on Jennifer's stressed nerves. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked.
Marty half shrugged, lying down on the couch when the coughing had subsided. "I just want to sleep," he mumbled, his eyes already closed. Jennifer took one of the blankets from nearby and tucked it around him, just as Clara and Doc returned. Clara held a small, plastic cylindrical instrument in one hand; it looked almost like a straw.
"What's that?" Jennifer asked.
"A thermometer," Clara answered. "Emmett bought this in the future a couple years ago."
Jennifer expected Clara to stick it in Marty's mouth, but instead she slipped it in his ear and punched a button. A moment later it beeped and she pulled it out, examining a small digital readout at the end. "He's got a fever," she said, nodding once. "101.3, to be precise."
Doc frowned. "That's not terribly high," he said, half to himself.
Marty coughed, not opening his eyes or saying anything. Clara looked down, her expression plainly concerned. "He sounds as if he has pneumonia, if you want my opinion," she said. "Not a serious case, but I don't think this would be bronchitis. The fever is too high for that."
Pneumonia. Jennifer swallowed hard at the word. "Isn't that fatal?"
"If left untreated, it can be," Doc said. "But they can knock it out with antibiotics now--if Marty has it," he added. "We don't know, and we can't do much about it until tomorrow morning."
Actually, Jennifer thought they could--but that would require another trip to the hospital, and likely the doctors there would just do now exactly what they would do tomorrow--waiting 12 hours wasn't going to harm Marty much. "I'll sleep out here with him," she said without hesitation. "To make sure nothing happens in the night."
Clara patted her arm. "Nothing will happen to him, Jennifer, I can assure you of that. Emmett is correct--the medical techniques today are quite sophisticated from what they were I was your age."
Doc studied Marty with a frown. "If it is pneumonia, he likely got it as a complication from exhaustion and the cold on the Titanic," he said. "It probably just started as a cold--"
"He was complaining of a cold this week," Jennifer said, nodding. "I remember."
Doc nodded slowly. "I recall him mentioning that before we left," he said. "I didn't really think much of it, however." He shrugged. "I suppose there isn't much we can do about that now."
Marty coughed again, hard. Jennifer looked at Doc. "Can we give him something for that?" she asked.
"Oh, definitely," Doc agreed. He turned to his wife. "Clara--"
"I'm on my way," Clara answered, already heading for the hallway again. Doc leaned over Marty and shook him gently.
"Marty?"
Marty didn't open his eyes, but he did respond. "Hmmmmmm?"
"We're going to give you some cough medicine, all right? I'm going to need you to sit up for it."
Marty groaned weakly, but managed to push himself up, his eyes opening reluctantly. "So you guys think I have pneumonia, huh?" he murmured, leaning to one side, against the back of the couch. "I guess that would explain why I feel like this."
"You should see a doctor tomorrow," Jennifer said seriously, sitting down at the other end of the couch.
Marty massaged his forehead with his fingers. "I will," he said faintly.
Clara returned with a bottle of a thick, maroon liquid in hand, and a big metal spoon. "This should help," she said, opening the bottle and pouring the stuff into the spoon. Marty looked at it with an expression of mild distaste.
"This isn't a home remedy, is it?"
Clara hesitated. "Of course not," she said, something in her voice causing Jennifer to look at her suspiciously. She's lying, Jennifer realized. Yet Doc, who probably knew that, did not look worried in the least. Marty accepted the mouthful of medicine without any protest, grimacing a little as he swallowed it.
"Hope it works better than it tastes!" he said, coughing a little.
Clara smiled. "It should," she said, setting the bottle down on the coffee table with the spoon. "Do you want anything else?"
"Water," Marty said, immediately, accepting a couple pillows Jennifer passed over to him. "And maybe some Tylenol or something. My head is killing me."
Clara departed again to fulfill the requests. Marty lay back down, pulling tight the blanket Jennifer had covered him with earlier. Jennifer watched him for a moment as he rolled onto his side and stared at the flames in the fireplace through half-closed eyes.
"Marty," she finally began, "what happened to your great-aunt?"
Marty coughed once. "I think she died," he murmured. "Said some really weird stuff, too...."
"You think she died?" Doc asked, leaning against the side of the fireplace. "You're not certain?"
Marty closed his eyes and was silent. Jennifer thought he had fallen asleep when he spoke again. "I think I'm sure, yeah," he said, coughing weakly and opening his eyes. "I don't think they got her back."
"I'm sorry, Marty," Jennifer said softly.
Marty shrugged once. "She was old," he whispered. "And at least she got her last wish...."
Clara came back with the medication and a glass of water. Marty rose up enough to take the painkillers and drain most of the water, then lay back and closed his eyes. Then the room cleared; Clara went up to bed and Doc mentioned that he had a few "loose ends" to tie up in the lab in relation to their trip. Jennifer took some of the spare blankets and made herself a bed on the floor, near the fire. She threw a few more logs on the shrinking flames, then lay down.
Staring at the fire, Jennifer began to feel herself thaw--and it was not necessarily a good thing. She wasn't physically cold, but inside something seemed to have frozen since they'd been on the Titanic. With all the insanity that had ensued since they'd arrived on the ship, and then Marty's frightening spill into the water, she hadn't let herself really think about the event.
Now, though, the thoughts slammed into her full force. Jennifer recalled some of the faces she'd seen on the ship, the way the water had rushed towards her and Peter down the hall, the terrible noises the Titanic had made as it split, the way people lost their grip in the final moments, falling to the water, slamming into parts of the ship....
Jennifer groaned softly, rolling away from the fire and trying to focus her mind and attention on something else. But her mind didn't want to obey; her eyes filled with hot tears at the memory of being on that ship, recalling how close they had come to going down with it. Her body suddenly felt chilled, oblivious to the fire from nearby.
I was so stupid! she thought, angry with herself. How could I have ever thought being on the Titanic would be fun? People died! Hundreds of people died! And I thought it would be fun?!
Jennifer sat up, unable to relax now. She leaned forward with her face in her hands, taking several shaky breaths and trying to calm down. After a minute, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the bloodstained handkerchief that Peter had given her. Jennifer stared at the initials sewn on one corner. P.A.M. She traced the stitches lightly with her fingertip, her eyes welling with tears again.
A door open and closed from the back of the house and footsteps began to approach the room. Jennifer wiped at her cheeks with one hand, stuffing her memento back in her pocket with the other. Doc Brown entered the room a moment later, a hardback book in hand.
"You're still awake," he said softly. "I suspected you might be."
Jennifer tried to smile at him. "I suppose I'm too keyed up to sleep right now," she admitted. When he didn't say anything immediately, Jennifer asked him a question that had been gnawing at her since their return.
"How can you stand it?"
"How can I stand what?"
"Time travel," Jennifer said. "I don't see how you and Marty and your wife and kids can enjoy something like that. Knowing you could save so many lives and change so many bad things...."
"One tries not to think about that," Doc said. "It's just something you have to do if you want to time travel or enjoy it at all."
"I don't see how you can enjoy it because of that," Jennifer said softly, lowering her eyes. "All those people on the Titanic died--and we could have stopped it if we went back in time ten minutes before we did."
"Perhaps," Doc said, continuing to stand. "Perhaps not. From what I've seen, some incidents are meant to happen, one way or another, sooner or later, no matter the actions taken with foresight. Anyway, Jennifer, it's not our responsibility to change such things. We shouldn't feel it is."
Jennifer took a moment to let those words sink in. She shook her head. "I suppose I understand it all, logically, but not really," she said. "I've seen what can happen when things are changed, even for the immediate better," she added, recalling again the Woodstock incident. "But it seems really unfair and twisted that bad things begot good."
Doc smiled wanly. "I suppose it's all in perspective," he said. "The Titanic was a great tragedy, but the changes it brought likely saved many more lives than were lost in the long run." Doc stepped closer to her and leaned down, handing her the book in his hand. "This should make you feel a little better, I think."
Jennifer didn't understand. She examined the book's cover, which was nothing spectacular. A black and white photograph of the Titanic with the title in cursive script at the top. " 'The Voyage Into History,'" she read aloud. Jennifer looked up at Doc, who had stepped over to the couch to examine a now-snoring Marty. "I don't get it."
Doc glanced at her. "Look at the author," he suggested.
Jennifer scanned the cover for the byline. It was at the bottom. "Oh my God," she murmured, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of her. "Peter McCoy! Peter McCoy wrote this? The same one on the ship?"
"I believe so," Doc said. "There is a picture in the back of the dust jacket if you want positive identification."
Jennifer flipped to the location, her hands shaking slightly as she did so. The photograph in question was on the back flap of the dust jacket, a small 2 x 3 black and white headshot. The face was aged a little more, perhaps to the mid-40's, but Jennifer recognized it regardless. "It is Peter McCoy," she breathed. "He survived!"
"Apparently so--and on his own without any assistance from you," Doc added as Jennifer thumbed through the book. "I remember checking that book out of the library this week, as I was conducting research into the Titanic. Which means that he survived before we went back."
Jennifer couldn't help smiling. "I'm glad," she said. She scanned the synopsis of the book, realizing it was a non-fiction work about his experience on the Titanic. Her smile widened as she recalled their conversation at the stern of the ship, shortly before the end of the liner.
He pulled it off, she thought. He became a writer. And I know this book had to be a success!
Curious to see when it was first published, she turned to the page with the copyright, publication, and history information. Jennifer's eyes unconsciously glanced at the opposite page when she located her goal. She noticed the book had originally been published in October of 1920 when something tugged at her brain, then at her eyes, dragging them back to the words on the opposite-facing page. And she froze. Her blood seemed to turn to ice.
"Oh my God," Jennifer whispered, staring at the page.
It was the book's dedication--For Jennifer Parker, an inspiration who transcends time: "Whom the Gods love dies young."
"Oh my God," she whispered again, her eyes filling with tears. Peter thought I died on the Titanic. Oh my God, that's so terrible....
"What is it?" Doc asked, looking at her.
Jennifer closed the book. "Oh, nothing," she lied. She didn't want to tell Doc about the dedication. It seemed too...personal, too much hers to share with someone else. And the idea that he might want to take that away from her, because she hadn't been there originally....
"It's nothing," she said again, setting the book down. But a nagging curiosity did not allow her to leave the book. Jennifer picked it up again a second later and skimmed the mini- biography at the back of the book.
After the Titanic, Peter had gone on to serve in World War I and establish a moderately successful fiction career for himself. He married in 1922 and ended up having three sons. He died in 1975, at the age of 85, in his home in Bellevue, Washington.
"A good, full life," Jennifer murmured, gently touching the photograph of the face she had been certain would end up at the bottom of the ocean. "I'm so very glad."
Verne Brown woke up early as he did most weekend mornings, but this one was a little different. He usually woke up Sunday mornings to the smell of his mom cooking breakfast, but that wasn't the case today. A glance across the room told him Jules was still in bed as well. A little puzzled, Verne got out of bed and headed for the stairs to check things out further. From the stillness in the house, it was plain he was the first one up. Interesting. I'll bet Mom and Dad went somewhere last night, he thought, frowning a little. Gypped me and Jules again.... Verne jumped down the stairs, whistling a little, pleased at the idea of having first dibs on the TV this morning. Sunday morning fare wasn't the greatest, at least not compared with Saturday mornings, but cable usually offered something semi-entertaining. Upon reaching the first floor of the house and rounding the corner to the living room, he stopped dead, blinking once at what he saw. There was a small fire burning in the fireplace. Weird. Weirder still, however, was that Jennifer Parker--Marty's girlfriend--was seated in a chair near the fire, her attention fully focused on a book she was reading. "What are you doing here?" Verne asked, breaking the silence in the room. Jennifer jumped, the book nearly falling out of her hand as she turned her head to stare at the new arrival in the room. "Verne!" she gasped softly. "You scared me!" Verne walked into the room, seeing what looked like every spare blanket in the house on the floor and the couch. "What are you doing here?" he repeated. "Did....oh, I'll bet Mom and Dad went out time traveling last night, right?" A new possibility occurred to him. "Are you babysitting us?" Jennifer shook her head, putting a finger to her lips before speaking softly. "No, your parents are upstairs. Probably still sleeping. We were up late last night." "Time traveling?" Verne asked. Jennifer nodded once, her face suddenly sad. "Yes," she said. "Where to?" Verne asked, leaning over to investigate the fire. "The Titanic," Jennifer answered. Verne frowned for a moment, trying to recall why he knew that word. "Oh, you mean that ship that sunk," he said, turning around. "Yes." Something else nagged at him as he headed for the couch. "I heard Mom and Dad talking about that a few times this week," Verne realized. "Why'd you go back there? To make sure the thing didn't happen?"
Jennifer shook her head. "No, we-- Verne!" Verne looked up, startled, just as he sat down on the couch. Something moved under him. "Ahhhhh!" he screamed, jumping forward and throwing himself to the floor, half in honest fear, half for dramatic affect. From the floor he looked first at Jennifer, then at the couch where something was moving under what he had thought was a pile of blankets. "What's that?" he demanded. "It's too big to be Einstein!" "Shhhh!" Jennifer said, standing up and stepping over to the couch. "It's Marty." "Marty? He's here, too?" Verne got up, rubbing his arm a little as he stood. He'd broken it a few months before, and any rough physical activity would sometimes make it ache. "Did you guys all go out last night?" "Not all of us--just myself, Marty, and your father," Jennifer said, preoccupied. She knelt down next to the couch as the blankets shifted and Marty sat up, blinking in a sleepy confusion. "What happened?" he murmured. "Verne just sat on you," Jennifer answered. "It was an accident," Verne muttered, stung. "How was I supposed to know you were there, under all the blankets?" Marty coughed hard, sounding pretty bad to Verne. His face was a kind of sickly pale color, and there were dark circles under his eyes. "What time is it?" he asked. Jennifer looked over at the clock. "It's after eight thirty," she said. "How are you feeling today?" "Still sick and tired, if you want the truth," Marty muttered. He swung his legs over the couch and leaned over with his forehead in his hands. "I should probably go home and get to a doctor...." Verne spotted a familiar-looking bottle resting on the coffee table near Marty. "Oh, gross," he said, wrinkling his nose. "You took some of Mom's medicine? That stuff is nasty!" "Well, it did work," Jennifer said. "For a time, anyway," she added, looking at Marty. "You started coughing again around five AM, in your sleep." Marty lifted his head up to look at his girlfriend. "Did you stay up all night?" Jennifer nodded. "Yeah. I didn't really plan to, it just kind of happened. I started reading this book and...." She shrugged. The telephone rang. Verne ran to answer it, in the kitchen. He got it on the second ring. "Hello?" "Ah, hello...is this Dr. Brown's house?" Verne recognized the voice as Marty's mother, Lorraine. "Yeah," he said. "Do you want to speak to Marty?" "Oh, yes, please, thank you," Lorraine answered. Verne covered the receiver with his hand and brought the cordless phone into the other room. "Your mom's on the phone," he said, holding it out to Marty. Marty took it from Verne, leaning back in the couch and closing his eyes as he spoke. "Hello? Yeah, sorry about that, I know I should've called....yeah, I'm not feeling too well. I think I might need to see a doctor or something...." There was a long pause. Marty opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said finally, his tone sympathetic. "Listen, I'll be home soon, okay? All right, bye." He punched the button to hang up, then tossed the phone on the cushions next to him. "Did something happen?" Jennifer asked softly, sitting down next to him. "Great-Aunt Josephine died," Marty said, coughing hard. He picked up a glass of water and took a few sips before setting it down again. "She died last night in the hospital....probably right after I saw her."
Verne was lost on this. Jennifer seemed to understand, however, putting her arm around Marty and hugging him. "I'm sorry," she said. "Don't be," Marty said, slumping down and resting his head on Jennifer's shoulder. "She was old, and she got what she wanted at the end...." He stopped suddenly, smiling faintly. "And, you know what, I think those dreams are gone now! I don't remember if I had any last night!" Jennifer smiled. "That's great," she said. Her smile faded as she reached up to feel Marty's forehead. "Oh, Marty, I think your fever's gone up," she said, concerned. "I know, I know, I've gotta go," he said, coughing. He looked past Jennifer to Verne. "Where's Doc?" Verne shrugged. "I dunno." "I think he and Clara are still sleeping," Jennifer said. "It doesn't matter. Do you want me to drive your truck back to your house? I can walk home the rest of the way." Marty looked like he didn't like the idea, but slowly nodded. "All right, I guess we'll have to do that." He stood up slowly, swaying visibly on his feet. Jennifer grabbed him by the arm to steady him. Marty smiled weakly at her, then glanced down at his clothes, a little big on him. "Maybe I should change before we go...." "Don't be silly," Jennifer said. "You can do that at home. Doc won't care. Marty, I'm serious--you have to see a doctor." "I know, Jennifer," Marty replied, a little sharp. "But my keys and stuff are in my jeans." "So we can bring it back with you," Jennifer answered. She left Marty's side to pick up his clothes, folded and resting on the dining room table. "Verne, can you tell your parents that we left?" "Sure," he answered. "Hope you feel better, Marty." Marty followed Jennifer to the front door, slowly. "Me too," he muttered.
Marty's illness was almost exactly what Doc Brown had guessed--he had walking, or viral, pneumonia, and a good case of exhaustion as well. His mother had taken one look at her feverish, coughing son as he entered the house and immediately driven him to the hospital for the examination, as his regular doctor wasn't practicing on Sundays. She was shocked with the news.
"Pneumonia!" Lorraine had gasped. "How on earth did he get that?!"
Dr. Sanford, who had diagnosed it, shrugged as he wrote out some prescriptions. "Marty is also suffering from exhaustion. I would wager that weakened his body enough so the virus had a chance to overwhelm his system."
"But pneumonia...." Lorraine murmured.
"Viral pneumonia is actually more common than you would believe," Dr. Sanford said. "Many people think they are just suffering from a long cold or mild flu. It's not serious, however, not as serious as bacterial pneumonia. As long as Marty rests up and takes these antibiotics, he should be fine within a couple days."
Rest, Marty had thought longingly. No problem getting me to do that!
When he had gotten home, his mother had ordered him to bed, no exceptions. Marty did exactly what she had asked, pausing to make a quiet phone call to Doc Brown about the status of his health before pulling the covers over his head and falling into a sound sleep.
When he next woke up, it was getting dark out and he heard something outside at his window. Utterly disoriented, not even sure where he was at first, let alone what time it was, Marty sat up and looked around his room, squinting. After a moment, things clicked into place and he saw a face peering in through his window, which he had neglected to pull the curtains across before getting into bed. It was Jennifer. She waved at him.
What the hell.... Marty thought, crawling out of bed and opening the window. "What are you doing?" he muttered.
Jennifer glanced around. "I came over to see you, but your mom wouldn't let me in," she whispered. "She said you were resting and couldn't be disturbed."
Marty felt a mild irritation at that, but he still felt too drained to really care. "She's worrying too much," he said softly.
"What was it you have?"
"Viral pneumonia and exhaustion. It's not serious, though."
"Good. I can see why that might scare your mother, though."
They looked at each other, not saying anything for a moment. Marty shivered a little from the cool breeze wafting through his window. He thought his fever--registering at 102 when he had been at the hospital--had gone down some, but not all the way yet. And maybe hypothermia still lingered; he was still easily cold. "Why are you over here now?" he finally asked. The behavior was rather unusual for his girlfriend.
Jennifer shrugged. "Oh, I was just worried about you, I suppose," she said softly. "Seeing what we did yesterday....I don't know, for the first time I really thought I was going to die. More than when we were on that pirate ship, even." Jennifer leaned forward, across the windowsill, her voice a whisper. "It scared me, Marty. I realized how much I hadn't done yet and how much I didn't want to die."
"No one wants to die, Jennifer," Marty said, coughing. He didn't really understand why she had been so terrified on the ship--after all, he was the one who had fallen into the water. Or maybe it was just that so much time traveling had made him blasé about the whole thing. Marty had had so many brushes with death that he hardly thought about it much anymore.
Jennifer stared at him a moment, blinking. "Peter McCoy survived," she said suddenly.
Marty didn't know who she was talking about for a minute, then he realized she was speaking about that young man on the ship. He frowned for a second, then twisted it to a slight smile before Jennifer could notice.
"That's great," he said flatly.
Jennifer continued on. "I guess he did go in the water, but got onto Collapsible B. That was one of the lifeboats that washed overboard when the ship sank. About a dozen men managed to crawl on top of it, even if it was capsized, and stay there until the Carpathia came to pick up the survivors. And he survived and wrote a book about the trip--that's what I read last night." She paused to take a quick breath. "I'm glad he survived, Marty. I don't know how I could live with myself if I found out he died, knowing I could've stopped it...."
Marty felt a chill from inside, suddenly recalling his brush with Jennifer's great-aunt, Jane Parker, during the San Francisco quake of 1906. He had saved her life the first time, only to discover she was supposed to die for the greater good of the world. It was a painful dilemma he didn't think he would ever forget.
Suddenly, he knew exactly how Jennifer was probably feeling right now--a great sense of relief. Marty's smile turned more genuine when he realized that his girlfriend wouldn't have to go through a similar inner torment like he had, thank God.
I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
"That's good, Jennifer," he said, sincerely. "I'm glad Peter McCoy lived." As he spoke, something about that name nagged at him. "McCoy," he muttered under his breath. "Where have I heard that name before?"
"It's a pretty common last name from Ireland," Jennifer said. "Sort of like Smith is over here, I think."
"No, I swear I've heard that last name sometime here...." The connection snapped into place and Marty's eyes narrowed. "Didn't you like some guy with that last name? Chad McCoy?"
Jennifer's eyes widened, just as her face paled a little. "Oh my God! I never noticed that! I wonder if they're related? Oh my God, now that I think of it, they do look a little alike...."
"Anything's possible," Marty said.
"I could find it out, maybe," Jennifer said thoughtfully. "God, that is so weird...." She shook her head a little, as if to clear it, then changed the subject. "How long are you going to be bedridden?"
"A few days at most, probably," Marty said. "I should be back in school by Wednesday or Thursday." He sighed. "That's really going to screw me over, missing all that class."
"At least you can sleep now, though," Jennifer said. "The dreams are gone?"
Marty thought about that for a moment, then nodded a little hesitantly. "I think they are, yeah. Or if I'm having them, I'm not remembering them anymore and they're not waking me up."
"That's so strange," Jennifer murmured. "Why do you think you had them?"
That was a question, frankly, Marty was trying to avoid. Just thinking about it made him feel a little scared--and he wasn't quite sure why. "I don't know, Jennifer," he whispered. "I don't know if I'll ever know. But I'm glad they're done with now, and I hope that nothing like that ever happens to me again!"
Jennifer was silent for a moment, then smiled a little. "Mysteries are what make life interesting," she said softly. "Maybe you're better off not knowing." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek through the window. "I'll let you get some more sleep now. Call me later, okay?"
"I will," Marty promised.
Jennifer backed away from the window. "I love you," she said.
Marty raised a hand in half-wave. "I love you, too," he murmured. He stood at the window and watched Jennifer walk away, until she was out of sight, then closed the glass against the chilly wind.