"Hey, miss. Miss! You have to get up now. We're at the station. Miss!" Buffy sighed. Shortly after she had found herself a seat, she had fallen asleep. And she had been dreaming again. Something about monsters and vampires and a small town where they seemed to have headquarters. Sunny- something. Sunnyhell, for what it looked like. And there was a name she distinctly remembered, something factual in all that nonsense: Rupert Giles. Sounded like some stuffy History teacher, Buffy mused. She had once sat history with an Oliver Miles.
"Miss! Are you ill?" Buffy snapped out of her dreaming. "Where- where are we? Is this LA already?" "LA? No Miss, it's Sunnydale, our final stop. That's why you have to get off now."
Buffy was instantly wide-awake. "Did-did you just say Sunnydale? It's real?" The conductor eyed her warily. "Look miss, can you just leave this bus. You can ask them in there." Buffy complied. Sunnydale. She must have read that name on the bus and somehow it had crept into her dreams. She still wondered about that name she remembered so clearly. Rupert Giles. Imagine he would be real, too. Maybe he was the man of her dreams, and she had been given a sign, like in that movie. Unlikely, sure, but after that disaster with that bastard Parker, Buffy could well use a little romanticism. She looked at her watch. Her parents wouldn't miss her yet, she could call them later. This was going to be interesting. Smiling, Buffy marched into the bus station, looking for a telephone booth.
People were casting odd looks at the fragile looking girl that was nearly covered in the two bulging big bags she was carrying on her shoulders, all the while muttering to herself: "Imagine that, Mr. Rupert Giles, of 2470 Chestnut Drive. Well, Mr. Giles, you have been chosen for our surprise visit. I hope you are not a serial killer, though, or old and stuffy."
Sunnydale was quite enjoyable, Buffy thought. People were staring a bit, but it was probably natural for small towners to eye all strangers. But they were really helpful, giving her the directions. Soon she stood in front of a Colonial-style apartment house. Buffy held in. What was she doing here? But there was some inner feeling telling her everything was fine, and Buffy felt a strange calmness settle over her. "OK, then, here I am. It's Buffy in wonderland. Follow the white Rupert." Buffy giggled, and knocked. A faint "just a second" was to be heard, then the lock was turned. "Jenny, your keys – Oh. How can I help you?" Buffy looked at the man in front of her. No, not too stuffy, but definitely too old. Maybe he had a son? "Are you Rupert Giles? I'm sorry to disturb you like this, but – it's the weirdest story, you wouldn't believe. Say, do you believe in visions?" "Ah, miss, I value freedom of thought and all, but I'm not interested in joining any church, thank you. Now will you please excuse me –" "Oh, no, definitely no missionary zest here; I was just trying to explain something weird that happened to me, and which includes you. Oh, by the way, I'm Buffy. That's my name, Buffy Summers." "That, young lady, is a very sick joke you are trying to play on me. Buffy Summers is dead." And the door closed in Buffy's face.
"No Dad, I'm really fine, I just met an old friend of mine on the bus, and now I'm staying at her place for the night. – No, don't tell Mom, she hates Cathy. – Yes, I'll see you tomorrow, love you too!"
Buffy was still sitting in the yard of the hacienda-styled house. She was feeling sorry for that man, she had obviously stirred up bad memories. Who could have known that another woman was mad enough to call her baby girl "Buffy"? Because that was the only explanation Buffy could think of: there must have been another Buffy Summers, which had died, and to Giles she must appear as an impostor.
"Hello. Can I help you? Are you looking for someone? You look lost!" Buffy was taken out of her reverie by a pretty dark-haired woman. "I-I don't know. I had a crazy day. I should just take off, get home. But thank you." "Jenny. Jenny Ca- Giles. Jenny Giles. We're newly wed, it still takes some effort. One gets so attached to one's name, it's hard to change. You'd better stick with yours, which would be -?" Buffy eyed her curiously. Would she freak, too? She seemed like a genuinely sane, down-to-earth person. "Promise not to freak? As I said, I had a really weird day, and I freaked your husband big time. My name is Buffy Summers." She paused, waiting for a reaction. The woman surveyed her critically.
"Well, 'Buffy' – I think you better come inside. Rupert will want to discuss some things with you." Buffy shrugged. She had gone so far, she wanted to find out what lay behind all that coincidences. Then she followed her into the apartment. It was dark in here, but not in a gloomy way. It was cooling and comforting after the bright sunshine outside. Buffy sat down and waited for the things to come.