It wasn’t often Joyce got the afternoon off work. It was even less likely that she didn’t have to spend it running around like a tree caught in a hurricane, catching up on errands and all the things she barely found time for in between shifts. Today was a treat. Joyce had it all planned out: sit at home, no thinking or worrying, just watching bad daytime television and eating the secret bag of chips she kept hidden from her kids. Nowhere on her agenda, did the plan involve creeping towards the shed in the backyard, armed with a mop, held tightly above her head, to confront whatever was crashing around in there. Gritting her teeth, Joyce yanked open the door with a fierce battle cry.
@trademarkliar almost got hit in the face by the mop when Joyce swung wildly, the temporary weapon flying across the shed and clattering to the floor. “Alan, what are you doing?! You nearly gave me a damn heart attack!” What was once Joyce's voice was now more akin to a kettle screeching. One hand clutched her chest, the other pressed against her knee where she keeled forward to recover from the shock. “I thought you were a robber or some kind of animal,” or a monster. Joyce’s gaze dropped to the bike in Alan’s hands and the pieces began to fall into place the longer she stared. “That’s Will’s bike,” she pointed out blankly, as if somehow Alan wasn’t already aware. “Tell me you didn’t take that bike out of this shed or I swear to God you’ll wish you never snuck in here.”