They approached the wooden door hastily, both men tense, unsure of what to expect.
The message from dispatch had been as haunting as it had been cryptic.
"Yale needs help. Please come now."
Had Janaea kept it that way to elude any undue questioning? Was she afraid to mention something that might alert the men and women at the switchboards, causing them to send somebody else? Just how far would the young woman go to keep the matter of her father private?
Perhaps, deep inside, she didn't trust anybody except the two of them, her call a desperate and final plea for help.
Whichever scenario would end up holding true, it gave Mike the chills.
here could be a plethora of issues awaiting them on the other side of that door, and they may not be equipped to deal with all of them. At least, for the sake of everyone involved, he hoped that the call had simply meant that Yale was once again up to no good, strolling the neighborhood to find another car.
Just before knocking, Mike used his right hand to gently push his partner off to the side, knowing that in his current predicament, Steve would be no match for a strong-willed and determined Yale, should that be the case.
Yielding his order, the young Inspector limped backward, using his good hand to open the buttons of his dress jacket to expose his revolver.
After the way the last few days had unfolded, Mike couldn't blame his partner for expecting the worst at all times.
With a final, deep breath to calm his nerves and appear as professional and controlled as possible, Mike knocked twice.
"Janaea? Are you there? It's Mike Stone and Steve Keller."
Footsteps could be heard from the other side, rushed, downright frantic. It took her several attempts to undo the chain before the door finally opened, a pale Janaea greeting them on the other side.
Her eyes were puffy from crying, her hand shaking as she waved them inside.
"I am…sorry about the call.", she immediately apologized.
"No worries.", Mike countered quickly, his eyes tracing the outline of the apartment, looking for any threats, anything out of sorts…including Yale.
And yet, he found neither.
"How can we help you, Janaea?", Steve asked from behind, the slightest of a quiver in his voice.
"He is…he is over in the other room. I think he is sick. Or drunk. I can't wake him up."
As she finished the sentence, the young woman began to sob uncontrollably, all of her previous composure leaving her exhausted body as she held her hands in front of her face, shaking her head in defeat.
"That's ok, we're here to help. We're going to check on him and get him some help."
Despite his soothing tone, Mike couldn't wipe the grim expression off his face, the one that came with nearly thirty years of dealing with substance abuse and deadly overdoses. Sharing a brief glance with his partner, he cocked his head toward Janaea, an unspoken message to stay with the distraught woman while he investigated the situation in the other room.
Steve did as he was told and slowly approached Janaea, wrapping the young woman in a tight embrace as he steered her toward the nearby couch; out of sight from the bedroom and out of the way in case they needed paramedics up here.
Mike found himself drawing in another dreadful breath as he reached for the bronze doorknob to the nearby bedroom, bracing for the sights his eyes would have to take in like they'd done so many times before.
And yet, little could prepare him for what he found in the other room.