Chapter 3:
Buffy lay frozen on the bed, amazed at what she just read. It seemed almost a bit unsettling and invasive to read a private entry from the person who originally owned her desk. She slowly thumbed through the next several pages one more time, wanting to be absolutely sure that she did not miss any other entries in the journal.
It shocked Buffy that this entry was written on today's month and day, but what surprised her even more was that this person had purchased the desk on the exact some say she had. It seemed to much of a coincidence.
The biggest question she now had was how had she not heard the journal shifting around in the drawer while she pushed the desk to her room?
"This is too unreal," Buffy muttered. "I mean, what are the odds?"
She turned back to her nightstand and grabbed an ink pen before flipping to the next page. After thinking about how to begin, Buffy slowly began to write about her day. She wrote several sentences explaining how her shopping with Willow went, and then moved on to quickly write about work, keeping things fairly simple.
Hey, this isn't that bad, Buffy thought, once she had finished writing down all of her thoughts.
Maybe writing in a journal would be a good way for her to work out her feelings. She would be able to say things that she couldn't say to any of her friends, even Willow. More importantly, maybe this would be a way to help her move past Warren and their failed relationship.
Maybe this is just what I need after all.
Buffy closed the journal and placed it back in the bottom of the desk, even thinking to place the false bottom back on top.
After changing for the evening and going through her nightly routine, she pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed. As she lay there trying to fall asleep, an absurd thought entered her mind - I wonder if I'll get a response? After all, in romance novels, the girl always gets a response.
"Stupid Buffy," she whispered in the dark room. "That's impossible. It's just a stupid journal. Just goes to show me how little sleep I've gotten in the past few days." With the thought pushed out of her head, Buffy turned on her side, snuggled deeper into the sheets and shut her eyes.
~~~
The next morning, Buffy woke up to the sound of U2's newest song blaring from her clock radio. She shut off the alarm, yawning as she sat up and stretched. For the first night in many weeks, Buffy had managed to get a full night's sleep. She was used to waking up in the middle of the night from nightmares, and then would be unable to get back to sleep for hours. The feeling of a deep, full-night's sleep was something almost foreign to her.
"That's a nice feeling," she told herself. "And hopefully that won't be the last decent night’s sleep either."
Buffy slowly climbed out of bed, running her fingers across the desk as she walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth, turning the water on so it would warm up for her shower.
As Buffy approached her wardrobe, she paused in front of the desk, wondering if she should check the journal.
"Oh, this is ridiculous," she grumbled, bending down to open the drawer and take out the journal. She flipped to the first page, rereading over the mysterious person's entry and turned the page to look at her own. She turned another page, and then two, noticing no changes or added entries.
See? Stupid, she thought to herself.
"I can't believe I actually thought that I might actually have a..." Buffy shook her head and chuckled to herself. She put the journal back in its usual spot and continued on to her dresser, picking out an outfit to wear to work and forgetting her childish hopes.
~~~
The following morning, William awoke feeling fully refreshed, as if he had just had the best night's sleep in his life. He turned to his right and looked towards the window, seeing the sun brightly shining outside.
Several minutes later, after dressing and preparing himself for a day's outing with his mother and sister, he sat down at his desk, feeling the urge to write in his journal.
However, before he could even reach down to open the drawer, he heard his name called from beyond his bedroom door. Before William could stand, the door opened and his younger sister, Emily-Grace, flew into his room. "William!"
Emily-Grace was sixteen years old, a beautiful young girl with curly honey-blonde" hair. Her eyes were a bright, vibrant blue, just like her brother’s. She was also distinguished by her very high cheekbones, another feature that she also shared with William. Although young, she was very intelligent and shared William’s interest in reading and writing with almost the same intensity, something that pleased him to no end.
"Good morning, Emmy," William greeted, opening his arms for a hug. William often called her "Emmy" when they were alone together, a nickname that had stuck when she was about ten; when she was even younger, he used to call her "nibblet."
"G'morning brother," Emily-Grace replied with a smile lighting up her beautiful features. "I wanted to thank you for the desk again. I am so pleased to finally have one of my own for my room."
William laughed at her dignified tone of voice. Only sixteen years of age and already sounding as if she is ready to attend parties and be courted.
"You are quite welcome," William answered, pleased that he could make his sister so happy with such a simple gesture. "Now, what has you running in here so early in the morning?"
"Mother has made a change in our plans. Since it is so beautiful outside, she has decided that we should go to the park for the morning instead of afternoon," Emily-Grace explained.
William nodded, understanding that his mother really wanted to go out earlier to get as much fresh air as she possibly could before the weather became too cold to do so. His mother had been feeling under the weather recently and the doctor told them that she should get plenty of rest and fresh air while she could. However, in order to prevent Emily-Grace from worrying, their mother always disguised these trips as a simple outings to the park.
"That sounds splendid," William agreed. "Tell Mother that I will be down shortly after I gather a few belongings."
After Emily-Grace left, William took a second to select a book of poems since Mother often requested to be read to, saying that hearing his voice always soothed her. He almost went to get his journal, but decided against it at the last minute.
After all, this is the whole point of keeping it in that drawer - so no one will be able to read what I have written, William thought.
He gathered his books, put on his glasses, and headed out the doorway, reminding himself to write later when he returned home.
~~~
William's promise to write in his journal slipped his mind for the rest of the afternoon, and he wasn't reminded until he retired for the evening. Loosening his tie slightly, William sat down in his chair and opened the drawer, taking out the journal and setting it on the top of the desk.
That sensation was still there; in fact, it was stronger than ever. As William held the journal he felt something there, something...dare he say, magical?
He opened the cover and flipped to the next blank page, the second page in the journal. However, when he expected to see nothing but a blank page, he instead saw...
"My word..."
The first page he recognized - it was his writing from last night, so of course he remembered it. However, what was written on the following page was most certainly not his.
The script was not elegant and refined such as those he knew used. The entry couldn't have been Emmy's, since her writing looked very similar to his. It was also not his mother's; the writing was loopy, unrefined, but clearly feminine.
"How on earth can this be possible?" William whispered to himself.
The writing had to be from someone else - someone who did not live in this house, yet had entered undetected while they were gone earlier that morning. That was the most logical explanation William could think of. Although, he was a bit surprised that he could form any assumptions to begin with.
But why would someone do that just to write in my journal? William asked himself. No, that scenario was out of the question as well.
But how else could he explain it?
William took a closer look at the entry and was shocked at what he read. This entry was dated September 18, 2004.
"Impossible!" William gasped. 2004? That was over 100 years in the future! Even more bizarre was the fact that it was yesterday's month and day. It was impossible that this was written 122 years in the future to the very day that William wrote his entry. Nevertheless, as William sat down and began to read what was written, he found himself second guessing his original thoughts.
September 18, 2004
Dear
OK, so I'm not 12 - this isn't exactly a diary. Anyway, this is the first time I've done something like this a really, really long time - written in a journal, that is. Geez, it's probably been almost ten years since I last kept up with anything like this. But it's...calming. I feel a bit weird writing in a journal that someone else obviously started, but I figure why waste a bunch of blank pages? Keeps me from having to go out to buy a new one. And it looks like it's brand new anyway - weird.
Anyway, today was my weekly garage sale shop-a-thon with Willow. I bought a desk! Can you believe it, a desk?! It was pretty beat up, kinda old, but it...well, I found this false bottom thing with this journal inside, so it can't be all that bad. I was hoping there would be cash inside, but that’s just not my luck. I do sorta wonder who wrote the first entry...pretty handwriting. The desk itself is pretty nice...I'm going to have Xander clean it up a bit later on, sand it down, and make it all new again!
After that I headed into work and met Willow there. I have a commission to start creating a new landscape series. Who knew that my venture into landscapes would be so successful? Other than that, it was pretty boring today - Saturdays usually are. I think we're all gonna hang out tomorrow at The Bronze - yay! Looking forward to that!
This is actually pretty nice. Who knew that writing in a
That's all for tonight!
William sat there, reading the entry over and over again in a state of complete disbelief.
This was impossible.
Not only was this written over 100 years in the future, but this person - William suspected a female person from the look of the handwriting - had bought the same desk, his desk that contained the journal, on the exact same day he had!
William was at a loss over what to do. A part of him wanted to ignore what he had seen - tear out the page, even throw away the journal and buy a new one, one that did not send tingles racing up and down his arm every time he touched it. A small part of him wanted to forget that he had ever read this.
However, another part - a much larger part of him - wanted to know more - he wanted to know everything about this mysterious person, about about the twenty-first century, if this was for real. And most importantly, he wanted to know why he felt such an overwhelming sensation of empathy as he read over the last thing she wrote - "Maybe this is something that could help me cope with...well..."
William turned to a fresh page and began to write. At first, he was unsure of what to say, but eventually the words began to flow from his hand with ease.
~~~
Buffy didn't arrive back at her apartment until very late that night. Even though it was the end of the weekend and they all had to be at work the following day, Willow, Xander, and Anya insisted on taking her out to the Bronze for a fun evening of dancing, music, and drinking. The four celebrated Buffy's increases in sales during the last few months at the gallery. Her popularity had increased dramatically over the last few months with her last few commissions, and Buffy now found herself constantly working on at least two major projects as well as a handful of smaller ones for her clients. Anya, especially, seemed very pleased that Buffy was so financially successful.
It was almost 2:00 in the morning when Buffy half-stumbled into her bedroom. After dropping her jacket and purse on the bed, Buffy sat down in the chair to pull off her high heels, massaging each foot for a few seconds.
"What we women do for beauty," Buffy mumbled, slurring her words slightly from the alcohol she had over the course of the evening. Although her tolerance for alcohol had definitely increased from her first fraternity party during her freshman year at UC Sunnydale - which had been a disaster!— Buffy still didn’t hold her liquor very well.
She considered taking a shower to wash off the sweat and relax, but then she decided to write a bit in her journal before calling it a night. Who knows? I bet it'll be funny to read what I wrote while being this tipsy, Buffy told herself, bending down to pick up the journal.
She opened up to the page she wrote on last night and, seeing that there was very little room at the bottom, turned to the next page, pen in hand and ready to write.
"Oh. My. God," Buffy gasped, dropping the pen to the floor.
Suddenly, she was very sober.
Staring back at her was...well, it was writing! And not hers! It was the exact same handwriting from the entry on the first page. Even more impossible - this new passage was dated September 19, 1882, the day after the first two entries.
"But...but I checked!" Buffy stuttered. "I looked through and there weren't any other entries! This is impossible!"
But Buffy was forced to realize that things weren't as impossible as she thought they were - all the signs pointed to this being very possible, indeed. As Buffy read what was written, her eyes grew bigger and the color drained from her face.
September 19, 1882
Well, this is quite extraordinary. I opened my journal this evening with the intent on writing about visiting the park this morning with my mother and sister. However, I was shocked to discover another entry in a an unknown style on the next page in this journal. I am somewhat in a state of disbelief - the date alone was enough to make my head spin and cause me to question my sanity. 2004? Impossible!
I do not pretend to understand what is going on here, but if there is someone out there reading this in the year 2004, I suppose I should properly introduce myself, as any gentleman should. My name is William Atherton Stafford –
Buffy's eyes quickly darted up to the desk and the corner where the initials were engraved - W. A. S.
"Oh my god," she mumbled before going back to reading. "This can't be happening, it just can't be."
I live with my mother, Anne Maitena Stafford, and my sister, Emily-Grace, in London, England. I am twenty-four years of age. Emily Grace is sixteen, and has become a beautiful young lady who will make someone a very lucky husband one day.
I do hope I am not making a complete fool of myself when I discover I have written this to my sister or one of her friends playing a trick on me. However, if I really am writing to someone from the year 2004, may first ask who this is? And secondly, may I inquire what it is like in 2004?
Sincerely,
William Stafford
Buffy set the journal down on the desk and closed her eyes, massaging her temples with her fingertips. "This is unreal," she whispered. "I'm having a conversation, through a journal, with someone living in 1882. I am going insane."
Taking a deep breath, she read his entry over three more times. Each time she read it, the words sank in a bit more. After the third time Buffy read William's letter, it started becoming reality for her. "Maybe it's the alcohol talking here, but...I think I'm starting to believe it."
It was nearing three-o-clock in the morning, but Buffy bent down to pick up her pen from the floor and pulled off the cap. "Here's hoping I'm not going insane," Buffy told herself softly.
By the time she was finished, although still skeptical about what was going on, Buffy had written four pages front and back.
TBC...