Date with destiny

Gabriel steps out of the cab, clutching the corner-store bouquet he'd bought at the last minute. Already, he regrets bringing the shabby flowers; Pru works in a funeral home, she sees them every day. Still, a romantic gesture feels appropriate, given what he's come to do. 

"Wish me luck," he says to the driver, who grunts something like agreement before pulling away. 

Gabriel steels his resolve. "Pru, I have feelings for you," he says to himself.  "Pru, I would like to take you out. Pru, would you fancy a date with me? Pru, I love you."

None of it sounds right. 

He ascends the steps and crosses the porch. A few night lights are on inside, but the mortuary is quiet. Should he have called first? It's too late now. He rings the bell, hearing it echo within the large house. 

"Pru, I think I'm right for you.  Pru, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.  Pru, you're special to me."

He rings the bell again without answer. He shifts his weight nervously, wishing he'd asked the cabbie to wait.  

"Pru, I --"

"I don't think they're home," a voice behind him says dryly.

Gabriel's heart leaps into his throat and a strangled cry is forced out. The bouquet drops to the ground.  Behind him stand two men, both in dark suits. One of smoking a cigarette; the other stands at the edge of the porch with an expression Gabriel cannot read. 

"I was just, ah, I was here for someone," he stammers. 

"That's alright," the man at the edge of the porch says. His voice is gravelly, devoid of emotion. He strides forward slowly.  Gabriel watches nervously as the men exchange looks. There's something off about them; something wrong, something --

"I think he'll do," says the one smoking the cigarette, tossing the smoldering butt onto the floor. Gabriel's gut is telling him to run, to flee as fast as he can. He darts sideways, only to be caught be the emotionless can.  His face is blank; he might as well be dead. 

He takes Gabriel's face in his cold hands; for a moment Gabriel thinks the man might kiss him. Then, with a savage twist, he spins Gabriel's head sideways, drawing a sickening crack from somewhere below his skull, and everything goes black. 

The men wait.  The smoking man lights another cigarette. A few moments later, the lights in and around the house flicker.  Gabriel's eyes open, and he slowly rises, his broken neck crunching back into place. 

"Give me one of those," he says to the smoking man, who complies. Taking a deep drag, he addresses the empty man. 

"Yes, this one will do nicely."