“You mean I’ll be able to do magic?” George asked, brightening.
“No. Our power will be behind you, to guide you. That is all, but it will make a difference.”
“Thanks. I’m sure I can do it with your help.”
“Very good, earthling,” the creature said. “You will close your eyes now and sleep. When you awaken, you will tell no one of this visit.”
“O.K.,” George murmured.
He closed his eyes, lay back against the pillow. The creature moved closer to him, reached out to hold something under his nose. In less than a minute, young George McFly was snoring like a truck driver. Gently removing the featherweight earphones from his head, the alien figure walked to the window, paused to take a long look back at the sleeping figure, then disappeared into the night.
Doc Brown, waiting in his Packard convertible near the McFly house, opened the door as Marty approached and helped him into the car. The hood of the radiation suit was down and Marty was smiling.
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“I guess it went all right,” Doc Brown said, starting the engine and pulling away.
“Yeah. It was great. He swallowed everything like a ton of bricks.”
“You mix metaphors beautifully, my friend. How did the chloroform work?”
“Fine. He’s out like a light.”
“Good. I’ve had it a while. I don’t know whether chloroform gets weaker or stronger the longer it’s kept.”
“Well, it did the job,” Marty smiled. “Let’s hope he remembers everything when he wakes up.”
“That’s our only danger,” Doc Brown nodded. “Sometimes things which are vivid and frightening at night lose their strength when the sun comes up. Your father-to-be, I’m afraid, is the perfect candidate for doing a mental flip-flop.”
“God,” Marty said. “You mean after all that trouble he’s liable to chicken out?”
“Even with supernatural or extraterrestrial help, some people screw up. My knowledge of human psychology tells me that with George McFly it will be touch-and-go all the way.”
Marty sighed.
Nearly twelve hours later, he was still sighing—and alternately cursing George. Marty got to school bright and early, despite his loss of sleep from the night before, but George McFly was nowhere to be seen. Unfortunately, Marty had no copy of his schedule, so he was forced to waste a great deal of time looking into classrooms before he found out that George hadn’t shown up at all. By that time, it was midday and Marty hoped he would show up for afternoon classes. Part of him—the more sanguine part—reasoned that George had spent the morning planning strategy for his meeting with Lorraine; another part of him knew that George had just plain chickened out. He was presently surprised to discover that both parts of him had been mistaken.
School was over and Marty was loitering around the town square when he suddenly spotted George running toward him. He looked even more disheveled than usual and his eyes were wild and a little glassy.
“George!” Marty cried. “Are you all right?”
George stopped, nodded.
“You weren’t at school. Where’ve you been all day?”
“I just woke up. I overslept.”
Marty’s jaw dropped. Had the chloroform been that powerful? If so, was there a possibility he could have killed George? The thought sent a shiver of terror racing through his system.
“What time did you go to bed last night?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound calm.
“About ten or eleven o’clock,” George said. “I don’t know what happened. My folks slept a little late, so when they got up, they assumed I’d already left. I had some strange dreams. Maybe that did it.”
“What kind of dreams?”
“Never mind. Just fantastic stuff.”
It would not do to have George dismiss the careful scenario he had executed as “fantastic stuff,” of course. The wimp’s talking himself out of it already, Marty thought, but even as he began to despair, a new plan of action crossed his mind.