Dear Honey | HeeJayke

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6: ᴀʟᴛᴇʀᴀʀ

Jake's POV

The weight of what I'd done to Robert had begun to lift as I walked into the office early that crisp autumn morning. It didn't feel as heavy as before, which scared me in a different way.

As I was about to enter my office, I spotted Jay leaning against the wall outside, papers in hand, his uniform neatly pressed. My heart rate picked up, but I wasn't sure if it was from anxiety or... something else.

"Mornin', Counselor," Jay drawled, a smile playing at his lips.

"Morning, Sheriff," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. I smoothed down my suit, feeling underdressed next to Jay's authoritative presence. "Any news?"

Jay waved the papers, the fluorescent lights glinting off his badge. "Got the search warrant. Judge Hawkins signed it late last night. Ready to pay Mr. Dawson a visit?"

My grip tightened on my leather briefcase, feeling the weight of Robert's ring and watch inside. The metal seemed to burn through the fabric, a constant reminder of my guilt. "Let's do it," I said, mustering as much confidence as I could.

We climbed into the police car. The radio crackled with dispatcher chatter as we pulled out of the station parking lot. Jay's deputy, Chris, followed behind in another car.

We arrived at Mike's house, a modest two-story colonial with peeling paint and an overgrown lawn. Jay knocked on the door, his knuckles loud in the quiet morning. The sound echoed through the neighborhood, still sleepy in the early hours.

A disheveled Mike answered, tightening his bathrobe. His thinning hair was a mess, and his eyes were puffy with sleep. A woman, maybe his wife, appeared behind him, wiping sleep from her eyes. She wore a floral nightgown, clutching it close as if for protection.

"Mike Dawson?" Jay's voice was all business now, the friendly drawl replaced by a stern authority. "We have a warrant to search your premises in connection with the disappearance of Robert McBride."

Mike's face paled, his jaw working silently for a moment before he found his voice. "What? I don't... you can't just..."

But Jay was already pushing past him, Chris and I following. The house smelled of last night's TV dinner and stale beer.

"Jake, you're with me," Jay said, his eyes scanning the cluttered living room. "Chris, take the kitchen."

As we moved through the house, I felt the evidence burning a hole in my pocket. When would I get the chance? My palms were sweaty, and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

"Jay," I said, trying to sound casual, "does the house have a basement?"

Jay glanced at Mike, who nodded reluctantly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

"Chris," Jay called, his voice echoing through the house, "go with Jake to check the basement. I'll take upstairs."

My heart raced as Mike led us to the basement door. This was my chance. The hinges creaked as we descended the wooden stairs, each step bringing me closer to sealing Mike's fate - and securing my freedom.

The basement was dimly lit, with exposed pipes and cobwebs hanging from the low ceiling. A musty smell permeated the air, mixed with the sharp scent of chemicals from a nearby laundry area. Cardboard boxes were stacked haphazardly, and old sports equipment leaned against the walls.

As we descended, I watched Chris move to one corner, his flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. Quickly, I pulled out the items and looked for a spot to plant them. My hands trembled as I scanned the cluttered space.