Page 38 of So Insane

“As long as you don’t try to assault us,” Faith said, “He’ll stay at my side.”

Martle hesitated a moment longer. “Okay. Come on in, then. I was just making coffee.”

“At four in the afternoon?” Faith said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he said, “I need to keep my strength up for my late-night killing spree.”

“I strongly advise you not to be sarcastic with us,” Michael said stonily.

Martle paled a shade and said, “Right. Sorry. That was in poor taste. I usually drink coffee in the afternoon. I got the habit from my father. This is a little late for me, but not so late I’m not going to drink it. You want some?”

Michael frowned, but grudgingly said, “Sure, I’ll take some.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “None for me, thanks.”

Martle led the agents inside. The house was almost pristine. The décor was spartan and had a rather predictable outdoor theme with a pair of oversized elk antlers, the centerpiece hanging above the fireplace, and most of the furniture constructed of pine and cedar. Martle had evidently remained a bachelor.

Martle invited the agents to sit, then returned to the kitchen for coffee. “I was mapping the mines because I figured that a lot of people were going to want to explore them,” he said. “So I thought it would be nice to give people an idea of where was safe and where wasn’t. Not to mention an idea of where the hell they were and how to get back to the surface.”

“I thought you weren’t much for physical activity,” Michael said.

“Well, I was a good thirty pounds lighter back then,” he replied, returning with the coffee.

He handed a mug to Michael, who sipped and nodded appreciatively. “Good stuff.”

“Yeah, my nephew works for some snobby chain in San Francisco,” he said. “He sends me some of their stuff from time to time. I don’t know crap-all about it, but I guess this stuff’s supposed to be some rare varietal.”

“The mines,” Faith reminded him, “you were mapping them. Why did you stop?”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “I mean, I can tell you, but you won’t believe me.”

“You don’t want to be coy with us either,” Michael said.

Martle paused a moment. He tapped his finger on the side of his coffee mug, his lips drawn in a thin line. “I heard them.”

Faith lifted an eyebrow. She had an idea what he was talking about, but she still asked. “Them?”

“The voices,” he said, “I heard them.”

Michael sighed and lowered his eyes.

“I’m telling the truth,” Martle said testily. “Maybe I was just hearing things. I’ll allow that it’s a possibility, but if you heard what I heard, you wouldn’t go back in there either.”

“What exactly did you hear?” Faith pressed.

“The miners. I heard their voices. You know the mine collapsed about twenty years ago, right?”

“Yes,” Faith said.

“Well, it trapped about a dozen people. Some of them didn’t die right away. They were trapped for six days before they died. There was a rescue effort, but they couldn’t get to the miners because the tunnels surrounding them were structurally unsound, and they didn’t have the resources to shore them up in time to get to them. They managed to get a radio down to them though.”

He shuddered, and his fingers tightened around his mug. "You could hear them," he said. "I wasn't there, obviously, but the people who were could hear them. Do you know what finally killed them?”

The agents shook their head.

“They suffocated,” he said. “They ran out of oxygen slowly and eventually suffocated. Eyewitness accounts said that at first, the miners believed they would be rescued. It wasn’t until a few days passed that they realized they were running out of air and that no one was coming for them. For the next couple of days, you could hear screaming and sobbing and pleading. Then you could just hear gasps.” He sipped his coffee and added, “They didn’t mention anything about the scratching, though.”

Faith’s ears perked up. “Scratching?”

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