The Silver Umbrella
Anomaly Chronicles
Warnings: Boys in love with boys. Get over it. Oh, and fantasy theme again!

"Well, that bloody sucks!" Jamison complained loudly, throwing his hands up in the air.

There were screams from nearby pedestrians, cries of fear and sympathy, pitiful glances and horrified looks as well as a few rubber-necking busy bodies trying to get a better look at the too-still body on the ground.

With a scowl, Jamison folded his arms and stared down at the too-familiar body of the young man at his feet. A cold wind rushed away the umbrella the figure had previously held, the rain drenching the fallen man's clothes and blonde locks, the water diluting the blood…

"Damn, that's got to have almost pierced my lung," Jamison muttered crossly, staring down at the damage to his own body and ignoring the way he could see through his current ghostly form. "I don't believe this!"

He glowered at the panicked van driver who jumped out of his vehicle to run to his fallen side. He swiped his transparent arm at the stupid man who had run the red light, dissatisfied when his arm went through the idiot.

"You killed me!" he accused angrily, no one hearing him and the fact annoyed him more than ever. "You've damn well killed me! How am I supposed to finish school?" He demanded, "How am I going to get to my appointment at University next week? That was for my scholarship!" It occurred to him at that moment that school and his future was pretty well down the drain if he died, and that maybe he ought to be regretting a few other things like the fact— "Anthony Charles doesn't know I exist yet," he moaned. He stared morosely down at his body then amended, "Well that I used to exist, at least. Shit."

Then he remembered his gay porn collection under his bed and wondered how his mother would react to finding the stash when they cleaned out his room, since neither of his parents knew he was gay yet. That was enough to make him groan, drop onto the ground, and bury his face in his hands.

"My mother is going to freak out, and Dad is going to wonder where he went wrong," he moaned. "They are going to be so disappointed in me…" Another thought occurred to him then and he grimaced, wrapping his arms around himself and hunching a little more. "And now I'm going to hell for my… perversion. Ugh! This totally sucks."

He remained curled as splashing wet footfalls came running. "Oh my God," said the newcomer in a soft and shocked voice. The young male, sounding eerily familiar, demanded, "What happened?"

"I was pushing to get past the yellow light," the agitated driver replied honestly. "It turned red just as I passed. He wasn't looking, he was reading a book, I guess when he heard the pedestrian signal beeping for him to go so he just stepped forward then suddenly— Look, it was an accident!" The driver sounded like an honest guy and Jamison felt a little guilty for trying to hit him. "It was an accident, I swear!"

There were little musical noises, the kind from a mobile phone, before the familiar voice urgently said, "Emergency ambulance please! A pedestrian has been run over at a crossing, he needs immediate help!" There was a pause and movement, and Jamison nearly gave in to the urge to look up but he was dead and whatever these nice people did, nothing could really change that. He remained dejectedly balled up and listened, enjoying that some random people cared enough to try.

"Yes, he's breathing!" said the voice, making Jamison start. "One side looks horrible! There's a gash down the side of his face and neck, his arm looks completely broken and under that in his lower abdomen there appears to be a… a… I don't know, but it looks like it's caved in! There's no blood but his bones—under the skin— God, it's sunken in and looks awful."

There was genuine panic in that distraught voice as it continued to list Jamison's injuries before relaying their location, and those emotions finally made Jamison look up. When he did, he distantly thought that if he'd had a heart, it would have stopped.

"So he does know I exist," Jamison dazedly mused at the sight of his school crush of two years, Anthony Charles himself, kneeling in the wet road, mindless of the falling rain and panicking. Over his own body he recognised Anthony's trench-coat but-- he watched in shock as Anthony reached for his cheek, smoothing knuckles lightly over the too pale skin.

"Jamie," Anthony murmured softly, shocking Jamison all over again. He urgently begged, "Please…" He had a mobile phone pressed to his left ear which he angled when he spoke again, "Yes, I do know the victim."

Jamison stared.

Pause, nod. "Jamison Crown, he's a senior student at Brooks Academy." Pause. In an anxious voice, "No, I don't know his blood type." Pause. "Um, no, I don't…" His expression cleared and he excitedly declared, "But the school has records! They have his medical records and blood type and they'll know who to contact in this case!" He paused before he gave a brief and rueful smile. "Okay, great. Yea, I can hear them now."

Ambulance, Jamison realised with a tilt of his head to listen. There came a strange sensation on his ghostly hand and he lifted it up to stare at it, momentarily startled. As he looked through his hand… he realised that behind it Anthony was holding his physical hand. He stared in wonder, a warm sensation expanding in his chest.

Two sets of uniform-clad legs stepped into view but Jamison paid them little mind, eyes fixed on where Anthony gripped his hand. He bemusedly clenched the same hand in his current form, his left, enjoying the phantom-faint sensations.

"Officer," Anthony nodded, acknowledging the uniformed policeman crouching beside him.

"Did you see what happened?" the officer asked gently, pulling out a notebook as his partner pulled the van driver away to question him as well.

"Not really, I was a little too far away," Anthony answered. His attention focused mainly on the approaching Ambulance, eyes narrowing when it appeared to be held up. People tried to sort themselves and their cars to get out of the way and let the Ambulance get closer to the accident site.

"You know this kid, I see," the officer said as he nodded down at their clasped hands. "You're wearing the same uniform, aren't you?"

"We go to the same school," Anthony replied shortly, attention drawn away when the medics, unable to get the ambulance any closer, jumped out of the back and ran for them, carrying a folded-up stretcher.

"What's your name, kid?" asked the officer as he stood, gesturing to move away from the scene. "I've got a lot to ask you--"

"And that's fine if you have a lot to ask, I am happy to cooperate. My name is Anthony Charles," he replied. "But I'm going with this guy," he pointed, "to the hospital. You can find and speak to me there."

"I see," the officer said, eyeing again where their hands joined. "Thanks for talking with me." He stepped away toward the supervising medic. "See you later."

"This is unreal," Jamison muttered, astounded at everything Anthony had said and done. "This can't be real… and I'm dreaming… or dead…"

It wasn't like in the movies where ghosts could just float around and go places, Jamison realised. He had to run and make sure he could get on the ambulance as it left, dazed as he watched Anthony watch him intently the entire way. He followed through closing doors and rushing people to the hospital, startled at the number of other translucent people about the place. He was rather relieved to find he couldn't really see them very well, and actually couldn't hear them at all —but oh, it was so cool to go through stuff.

He watched as he was attended to in Emergency surgery, Anthony refusing to release his hand the entire way.

"Talk to him," the doctor said with a nod as he worked quickly. "People in a coma should have someone here to remind them they should wake up." There was a swarm of people about Jamison's body now, calling out measurements and dosages, demanding for an operating theatre to be made available.

"Coma?" Anthony whispered dazedly into the empty curtained-off section. He sat back down heavily. When he turned back to Jamison's still body, his eyes were wet. "I should have been closer, shouldn't I?" He stroked Jamison's cheek murmuring, "I should have been close enough to say something or pull you back or even push you out of the way… something!" He shook his head and said softly, "I'm sorry…"

Jamison stared, still and shocked.

Anthony whispered urgently, "I'm so sorry, Jamie."


"Jamie!" shrieked a far-away voice.

"Mom?" Jamison turned, poking his head out through the curtains to see his mother striding down toward his little booth.

"Right over here," said the nurse gently with a gesture.

Jamison turned back toward his bed, nervous about what his mother would think to see Anthony holding his hand and bent over him… but there was no one in his bed-side chair. The curtain into the empty booth beside his own was still swaying, so it was safe to assume Anthony had escaped. He wanted to go have a look through that curtain, puzzled but unable to decide what might be going on, but his mother yanked his booth curtain back.

"Jamie!" She dove for his bedside so quickly, one of the nurses had to warn her not to jostle him in his bed.

"Mom…" Jamison watched her burst into tears as a doctor explained what had happened.

He was swamped with guilt at her misery. She shrieked when, at that moment, the nurses prepared to wheel him away. Strangely, without really trying, he felt himself being floatily drawn away with them as they rushed his body away.

And when he glanced back at the swinging doors, he mourned how his mother wept but… behind her, through the curtains, there were a set of warm and worried eyes watching him go. The sadness and regret shone so potently that Jamison wanted, if he saw Anthony again, to wipe and kiss that sadness away.