Free Hellraisers by Alexander Gordon Smith

concrete and metal rearing above him, ready to stamp him into mud.
    â€œNo,” he said before he even knew he was talking. “No way. Door number two. I’ll take it.”
    â€œDoor number two,” said Herc, almost sadly. “Door number two and you’ll never know. Door number two and you’ll always wonder about what happened. That’s the thing about secrets. They’re like a hole in your life.”
    â€œYeah? Better a hole in my life than a hole in my heart.”
    He shrugged his arms beneath the straps, waiting for Herc to release him. Herc showed no sign of moving, though.
    â€œYou fought well, kid. Came outta nowhere, shotgun blazing. What were you doing down there anyway? Pretty heroic.”
    Ha! Marlow grinned without humor. Yeah, real heroic. Taking a gun to save himself, trying to run away. The only reason he’d been down there was because the cops had herded him that way. Yeah, Marlow Green, real hero.
    â€œJust … just thought I could help,” was what he said, staring at the ceiling.
    â€œWell,” Herc said, “that’s a rare thing, kid. And you saved our asses in there, whatever she might say.”
    Marlow glanced over to the curtain, disappointed that Pan was still out of sight. He took the time to chew on Herc’s words. A soldier. Like Danny. So he could be dead, like Danny. But there was something about these guys, something that tugged at him.
    â€œWho are you anyway?”
    â€œNeed to know,” Herc replied, tapping the side of his nose with one finger. “Pick that first door and you get to find out.”
    There was an itch inside his skull, the need to know. After all, it wasn’t every day that everything you thought you knew about the world turned out to be a lie.
    No. Better to forget. Better to run. It’s what he did best.
    â€œLook,” he said, “it was just a fluke. I wasn’t thinking. If I could do it all again I’d have run the other way, okay? Just get me the hell out of these things and let me go.”
    â€œLet you go?” said Herc.
    â€œYeah, door number two, I just wanna go home.”
    Herc shook his head.
    â€œSorry, kid, if only it were that simple. Door number two is … Like I said, you’ve seen things. Things the world can’t know.”
    Marlow let his head crash down onto the pillow. Herc didn’t have to say any more. It was pretty clear what he was driving at.
    â€œSo, door number one, I join you, fight those things, probably get my head ripped off. Door number two, I never leave this building, right?”
    Herc shrugged. Marlow swore beneath his breath.
    â€œAnd you call them choices?”

 
    YOU GOTTA LAUGH
    No sooner had Herc left his bedside, a guy and a girl took his place. They were young, maybe early twenties, both dressed in black Kevlar bodysuits with a big, black pistol holstered on one hip and a bowie knife on the other. Their expressions looked just as lethal, each of them wearing a scowl that made the big guy look like the happiest man on the planet. Marlow tugged and strained but the plastic straps did their job well.
    â€œWait,” he said. “What are you going to do?”
    They didn’t answer, the man popping the stud and sliding the bowie knife free of its sheath. It glinted in the blinding glare from the windows, stabbing Marlow’s eyes with sunlight. He winced, wanting to shut his eyes but too afraid that if he did so he would never get the chance to open them again.
    â€œWait!” he grunted, struggling, his whole body held tight. His windpipe was shrinking, fast, and he had to suck in his next breath, so little air that he could barely get the words out. “Wait, I’ll go for door number one. Door number one, dammit.”
    â€œToo late for that,” said the guy. He had a long face that reminded Marlow of a moose. “You had your chance. No room here for maybes, buddy. Hold