If Looks Could Kill (Sideshow Bob Fanfiction)

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter 67

Bob's eyes blinked open, and he sat up in bed. His eyes glaring against the shafts of light filtering through the blinds, Bob took at look at the clock. In bright green lettering, the clock clearly stated that it was six am.

'That's strange,'Bob puzzled silently to himself, 'It isn't usually light until at least 8 am in December.'

Bob gently swung his legs over his side of the bed and stood up, his bare feet bristling against the welcoming soft of the carpet. He watched Caitlyn, fast asleep. She looked so peaceful; so sweet. Bob smiled lovingly. It was hard not to love her.

Bob exited the bedroom as quietly as he could and crept into the bathroom. Though he didn't take a shower, as the water heater might have woken Caitlyn, Bob washed himself with a face and body cloth, brushed his teeth, and then returned back to the bedroom. He opened the wardrobe silently and took out a red jumper and a comfortable pair of jeans, and from a draw in the bedside dresser, he took a clean pair of socks and underwear. Bob dressed quickly, put on a pair of shoes, and then left the bedroom.

Bob headed straight down to the kitchen, where he pulled off a sticky note from the pack on top of the microwave, and a pen from the jar on the table, and wrote Caitlyn a note,

'Caitlyn darling,

I woke up early so I decided to take a walk. I know it's early, but walks are nice no matter the time. I shall be back quite soon, so don't worry.

Love from Bob xx .'

He placed the note on the fridge with a magnet, knowing that she always went into the fridge to get milk for her coffee in the morning.

Bob put on his coat and then sneaked out of the back-door.

The harsh pinch of the chilly wind felt good against Bob's face, and the crunch of the snow beneath his feet felt nice too. Bob crunched his way down the drive-way and along the street, his destination firmly set in the mind. Bob wondered if it was just him, but he thought that Boxing Day was always twice as cold as Christmas, as if it was a secret tradition of Mother Nature's. Or maybe not; maybe Bob was just too cynical.

Bob walked and walked and walked, crunching snow underfoot with each step. 

Bob stopped outside the tall and rusty cemetery gates. The orange rust clashed with the painted black of the rest of the gate, reducing its sinister manner. Despite the gate's lapse in malice, the cemetery inside was just as scary as it would have been otherwise, and Bob reckoned that it always would be. After all, his son was buried here.

Letting out a long, forlone sigh, Bob pushed open the gate and entered the grave-yard, just like he had done the night before. Unlike before, he was alone, and the sun was beginning to rise rather than setting. He shut the gate behind him with a creak, and then trudged his way along the grassy terrain until he was on the path.

"Where are you?" Bob asked aloud, scanning the rows of silvery slabs of stone, "Where's my little Gino?" After a long five minute glance-around, Bob spotted his son's name, engraved on a grave-stone.

"Ah! There you are!"

Being careful not to step on anyone's flowers or pictures, Bob made his way in between the graves, trampling over the overgrown foliage that had begun to take over the grass.

Just as Bob knelt before his son's grave-stone, the orange blaze of the sun had made its way half way along the sky, nearly fully risen.

"Isn't it beautiful? I mean, the sunrises in Italy were exquisite by comparison, but this one is nice all the same," Bob commented, speaking aloud to Gino.