Wait For Me - akablonded

~~~

And please make allowances - I haven't used Latin all that much in the past 25 years.

~~~

Some men were born to wear tuxedos. Brian Rafe was one of those men.

The handsome police detective loved nothing more than leaving behind the "Dirty Harry" world he and his colleagues inhabited on a daily basis, donning perfectly-tailored formal wear, and spending a delightful evening eating, drinking, and making merry with a beautiful, intelligent companion. And the Saturday evening soiree at Cascade's Museum of Art he was attending was turning out to be the cultural event of the season, thanks to Rafe's date, Doctor Claire Yoder, newest addition to Rainier University's Fine Arts department. She was co-chairperson of the committee that had successfully lobbied to bring "Life, Love and Loss in Pompeii" to the city. This was the traveling exhibit's last U.S. stopover before heading across the Pacific to Japan and then back to Italy.

No doubt about it, it was a night to remember. The company was superb, the food a gourmet feast, and the orchestra first-rate. But, the most amazing part of the evening involved one of the pieces sitting in a dramatically-lit alcove on the first floor. The face on the life-sized statue of a particular Roman patrician caught at the prime of his life was a dead-ringer for somebody Rafe knew: Metro Detective Blair Sandburg. Everything, right down to the hair length Sandburg was sporting these days was the same. It was positively eerie. Brian smiled softly as he remembered the first time ... was it almost five years now? ... he'd met the then-anthology student who was all eyes and ears and elbows and enthusiasm. Christ, it had been like coming up against the real Energizer bunny.

The kid had come out of nowhere and somehow been assigned as an unofficial observer of Jim Ellison. Ellison had a shadow. Nobody could quite believe it.

Jim Ellison. A piece of work, and then some. Hero, ex-Army Captain, Cop of the Year for four years running, and the hardest ass that Brian Rafe had ever met. The fact that Ellison hadn't killed Sandburg after the first week spoke volumes. The student had to have something.

Before Sandburg, Ellison had been another man. Sure everybody agreed he was the best of the best, but a pretty heartless and soulless, well ... prick.

And then one day, along came the earring-sporting, plaid-wearing, non-stop-talking ride-along teaching assistant. Every place you looked, Sandburg... was just there.

From day one, there had always been whispers about how close the two men who lived together, worked together and played together were. That they might be ...more to one another than just best friends. All that touching, being in one another's personal space. But it was no one's business really, and the detectives usually had a "live and let live" attitude toward their own. Blair Sandburg was one of their own by virtue of his leaving the ivy halls of academia behind, sucking it up at the Police Academy, earning his "chops" and the right to take his place alongside Detective Jim Ellison as the big man's official partner.

The Monday after the benefit started out quietly in the bullpen. Captain Simon Banks was attending an FBI Forensics Seminar in San Francisco. At the last minute, he'd decided to take Jim Ellison with him for moral support, leaving a disappointed Sandburg to his own devices, buried under a ton of paperwork. Sans partner, Blair finally broke down and was spending the morning finishing up several pending files that Jim had been pathetically shuffling around his otherwise neat desk on Friday, just before he and Simon headed out to the airport.

As Blair was dotting the last "i" and crossing the last "t" on the Broderick arson case, he caught sight of Brian Rafe breezing into the room, flashing a winning smile in his direction.

"Rafe, my man! I caught your picture in the Sunday paper. So, tell me. How's it feel being one of the 'beautiful people'?"

The tall detective flashed a million-dollar smile, the same one that beamed up at Sandburg from the "Living" section of the CASCADE POST the previous morning. "What can I say, Blair? When you've got it, flaunt it."

"Amen to that, brother. C'mon. Give. How was the affair? And the lovely Claire? The 'Claire' of the long hair and the even longer legs? How was she?" Sandburg wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and poked Rafe in the ribs with his elbow. The other detective swiped Blair's arm away.

"None of your damned business, thanks all the same. But, let me cut to the chase. You HAVE to get to the museum. You're not going to believe it when you see it."

"See what?"

"One of the statues looks just like you, Sandburg. I swear to God."

"Are you kidding? What? Is it a statue of Caesar's accountant?"

Rafe laughed good-naturedly and shook his head. "No. It's of some noble young buck from Pompeii. I swear. Even Clair saw it, too. I can't wait for you to check it out. I want you to go now. Take an early lunch." Rafe picked up Blair's plaid jacket from the nearby chair and threw it at the seated detective. "Go. I'll cover for you."

"You sure? You're a prince among men, Detective."

"High praise, coming from Caesar's accountant."

***

The museum was remarkably empty on Monday afternoon, except for a group of noisy, eager first graders. They scurried past Blair Sandburg on their way to the Ancient Weapons gallery, always a guaranteed crowd pleaser to the under seven crowd.

Blair followed the posted signs to the Special Exhibits area in the rear of the building. The entrance to "Life, Love and Loss in Pompeii" was dramatically illuminated; the interior, dark and mysterious. Walking through beautifully-constructed colonnades, he turned the first corner and immediately noticed the sad, evocative sounds of a solitary flute playing softly in the background. The melody drifted seemingly from nowhere and everywhere.

And then the detective came face to face with ... himself. There standing proudly in front of a faux stone backdrop was Blair Sandburg's alter image, frozen in time at the height of his undeniable masculine beauty.

Rafe was wrong. It didn't look like him. It was him. Feeling oddly light-headed, Blair hesitated for a moment before he reached out tentatively to touch the posed hand nearest his. It was a ridiculous idea, but for some reason, Sandburg needed to make sure it wasn't really of flesh, but of the giallo antico the small sign proclaimed, the highly-prized, pale yellow marble quarried in the Egyptian deserts of antiquity and generally reserved for statues of Roman emperors and their families.

So, this "Blair" had come from a noble - possibly imperial - family. The statue's vital statistics slightly unnerved its present-day counterpart. Height? Just barely five feet. But if Sandburg extrapolated correctly, that made "him" the right height for a short Roman male in the first century A.D.

The right height if he were Blair's alter ego.

The artist had sculpted the large pupils of the eyes concavely, so they had to have been light. Perhaps blue, like Sandburg's own?

"Ah, I see you are drawn to ... your face! Ma, cosi est eccezionale!" The rich, surprisingly strong voice belonged to a small, thin woman dressed in a clearly European-cut suit, and expensive, understated gold jewelry. Closer to 60 than 50, but still remarkably handsome, with upswept white hair glistening under the many spotlights around the exhibit, the stranger exuded an air of sophistication and authority. Her smile was warm and wondrous. "It is as though my 'Lupino' has come to life! But I forget my manners." She extended her right hand in Blair's direction. "I am Professore Sybil Trega, curator of Museo del Arte de Pompeii. I am escorting these works -- my 'children' -- on their first journey away from home."

"Piaçere, Professore. I'm Detective Blair Sandburg, Cascade Police Department."

"But how marvelous! Like the Starsky and Hutch of television?"

"Well, sort of." Blair laughed winningly as he brushed a short, errant curl off his forehead -- an old, die-hard habit from the days when his hair was shoulder-length. He suddenly noticed that the woman's dark eyes were shining with tears.

"Ah. My 'Lupino' would have sounded just like that. I know it in my heart."

Lupino. 'Little wolf' in latin.

"His name was Lupino?"

"No. It is just what I have come to call him. He was named Posthumus, as was the custom for Roman male children born after their fathers' deaths." Professor Trego paused for a moment. "He was the only child of Cornelia maior, the first daughter of Senator Cornelius Turpio, and her husband, Volusius Syncellus, one of the wealthiest men in Pompeii. Posthumus' story is one of great sadness."

"Why?"

"Because he loved with passion. And the love of his young life died tragically."

"Losing your lover at any age is tragic."

The old woman reached out and touched Blair's hand. "Bello, having never truly loved or loved in return is much, much worse."

Sandburg looked up at the face so like his own. He wondered what had happened. Did Posthumus' young wife die in childbirth? Or she contracted one of the many potentially fatal diseases that ran rampant through Rome? Was she an unacceptable consort to a noble Roman youth, and perhaps ended her own life in a ritual suicide rather than live without her lover?

"His love was a great Celtic warrior from Britain, captured in battle and brought back to Rome as a prize." Blair blinked as the realization swept over him that the one true love of the young Roman had been another man. The woman continued to weave a fascinating story for her audience of one. "Tall and fierce and beautiful, so the story goes. They were brought together by fate. They loved passionately, totally, completely, Detective Sandburg. Only death could separate them."

"What was the other's name?"

"Lost to the ages, I am afraid. But I have always called him 'il protettore,' for I am sure he protected this little one to the very end. When 'il protettore' died, my poor Lupino was inconsolable. He lived for a brief span of time afterward, but with half his soul gone, Posthumus' body soon followed. If you look closely at the scroll, you can see an inscription. 'Exspecto mihi.' You understand?"

"My Latin's a little rusty."

"It says 'Wait for me.' It is the covenant between the two lovers. One should not wait too long, Detective Sandburg, don't you think? Goodness! Look at the time. I must go." The woman reached in her jacket pocket, pulled out a business card and pressed it into Blair's hand. "We will be in your fair city for the next month. Please contact me if you wish to hear more about our friend here."

"There's more?"

"There is always more. If not in one lifetime, then in the next. Buon giorno, young man."

With that, Professor Trega turned smartly on her heel, strode out of the exhibit and was gone in an instant. Standing with his back to the sculpture, Blair's reverie was interrupted by a middle-aged man wearing a crisp museum uniform.

"Sir, can I help you or answer any of your questions?" The sandy-haired tour guide was obviously one of the many docents offering their services during this important show.

"No, thanks, man. Professor Trega answered most of them for me."

"Sorry, Sir, I don't know the lady."

"The Italian woman who just left - the one who's traveling with the exhibit. She's the curator --"

"No, the man from the Art Museum in Pompeii is named Giovanni Lombardo, but he's not here at the moment. You know, in this light, you resemble the statue a little."

"Think so? I don't see it myself."

"Well, enjoy the exhibit, sir."

"Thanks." Blair went back to looking at the card:

S. TREGA
555-3283

S. TREGA.

S. TREGA.

S. TREGA.

As he squinted his eyes, the name transformed into 'STREGA.' Blair took a deep cleansing breath to clear his head. There was an Italian liquor with the same name. It meant 'witch.'

A statue that was his double.

A story of a forbidden love between two men.

A woman who didn't exist, whose name meant witch. On an impulse, Blair pulled out his cell phone and looked at the letters corresponding to the numbers beneath the name.

Three-two-eight-three spelled the word ...'fate.'

There are no such things as coincidences. Blair's mind screamed at him. But he needed to know more - before he could find the courage to tell sentinel Jim Ellison that he had always loved him.

Slowly, the detective dialed 5-5-5-3-2-8-3 and waited for someone to answer ...

To Be Continued ... with the right encouragement...

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Many thanks to the extended Mongoose Family - editors, writers, artists and betas -- who continue to make this a fun place to spin my Sentinel yarns.