“How so?”
“Well, this used to be Twin Pines Mall in the 1985 I knew first time around. But when I went back, I accidentally ran over one of the farmer’s pines. I guess that’s why they call it Lone Pine now.”
Doc Brown smiled. “You’ll probably notice a lot of things like that,” he said. “It’ll be your own private joke with Hill Valley for the rest of your life.”
“Yeah…”
A few minutes later, they reached the DeLoren and Doc got inside.
“Won’t start, eh?” he said. Marty nodded.
Doc reached under the ignition, flipped a hidden switch and smiled as the engine roared to life.
“What are your plans now?” Marty asked.
“Well, first, I’m gonna wait until the cops clean up that mess at the parking lot and then I’ll drive my step-van outa there,” he said. “I got a few more plutonium pellets that I can use to travel, so I think that’s what I’ll do. After all, time’s a-wasting.”
“How far ahead are you going?”
Doc shrugged. “I figure I’ll take it slow at first,” he replied. “Maybe I’ll go about thirty years, just to get my feet wet. Then maybe I’ll take a look-see at the 22nd or 23rd centuries…”
“Well, good luck,” Marty said. “If you get a chance, look me up in 2015. I’ll be…let’s see…forty-seven years old. Wow. That’s ancient.”
Doc Brown snorted. “That’s just a kid. Anyway, I sure will look you up, my boy. It’s funny, isn’t it? I had to wait thirty years to catch up to you. Now you’ve gotta wait thirty years to catch up to me. Ain’t life weird…”
He winked. Marty closed the door and watched him drive off.
When he awakened, he was still in his clothes and morning sunlight was streaming through the window of his bedroom. Opening his eyes slowly, Marty looked around at the room which he knew so well and yet seemed so foreign to him now. Everything was still there, from the SR5 posters to the audio equipment. A calendar on the wall with X’s through the first twenty-five days of October 1985 informed him that today was the 26th.
Could it have all been a dream?
Getting out of bed, he looked at himself in the mirror, pinching himself several times to make sure the flesh staring back at him was real.
Next to the full-length mirror was a waste can with a familiar object projecting from it—the submission form to the record company. He had tossed it there in despair the night—or was it thirty years?—before. Now this act seemed as juvenile as the George McFly of 1955. Pulling a demo tape from his top drawer, he put it and the form into a mailing envelope.
“Why not?” he said. “My music has been wowing them for three decades. I’m a cinch to win.”
A few minutes later, after cleaning up, he went downstairs to breakfast. Linda and Dave were seated at the dining room table. They appeared the same facially but nearly everything surrounding them, from their clothing to the furniture, was different. Dave wore an expensive business suit and was reading Forbes magazine; sister Linda was dressed casually but elegantly as she ate what appeared to be eggs Benedict. The dining room was equipped with much more expensive furniture than he remembered, the table set with delicate linen.
At the door, he stopped, shook his head.
“Say, are we having company or something?” he asked. Linda and Dave looked at him and smiled.
“Not that I know of,” Linda smiled.
“Then why is everything so ritzy-looking?” Marty murmured. “Isn’t today Saturday?”
“That’s right,” Dave replied. Marty noticed that he was reading the business section of the morning paper.
“Aren’t you working this morning, Dave?”
“Sure. I always work on Saturdays.”
“At Burger King?”
Dave laughed. “What, are you hung over or something?” he asked.